The Ghosts Within
by ainttooproudtobeg
Summary: They chase ghosts for a living, but what haunts someone- what drives all the decisions made in life - may not always be on the outside. OC, so BEWARE! Rated T for language and adult themes.
1. The Rising Sun

I own nothing. If I did, do you think I'd be writing fanfiction? Or maybe I would. Who knows?

* * *

"Watch out, Egon!"

Trusting his fellow Ghostbuster without question, the scientist ducked, a chair whizzing over him right where his head had been.

Winston Zeddemore aimed and fired his proton gun at the light-blue colored entity, but it darted just out of reach. The only thing he had to show for his efforts was a scorched mark on the wall just below the name of the place emblazoned brazenly on the wall.

The Rising Sun.

Winston couldn't help but wonder briefly if the owner was a big fan of the New Orleans Saints, too.

"This is getting ridiculous," he muttered, more to himself than anyone. Mainly because the other three had their own problems to deal with.

Egon Spengler stood, adjusting his red-rimmed glasses as he intently studied his PKE meter. "Class Twos."

Winston had been with the group long enough to learn the lingo. "Did you say Class _Twos_? Because these guys are raising enough fuss to get a higher rating than _that_!" He fired again as another one – red this time – darted down from the ceiling where the rest of them were merrily circling the large room.

"They should be at least Class Fives," Peter Venkman yelled from across the room, ducking as another chair crashed nearby, a riot of high-pitched laughter erupting from the mob on the ceiling.

Egon tried to wrap his mind around their logic. "These readings clearly indicate several Class Twos . . ."

Peter impatiently waved his hand just as another pest dropped another gift from the ceiling – a large pink feather boa. Peter stared at it in his hand for a moment before answering, shaking it gleefully at his friend to prove a point. "Class Fives for _taste_! When's the last time we got a call for a bust at a _strip joint_?" He was clearly enjoying himself.

Egon did not find it amusing at all.

With one eye on the circle of ghosts above them, Winston looked around. "Hey? Where's Ray?"

"Over here!" Ray Stantz had taken cover behind the bar. Which seemed like a good idea at the time. However, one of the almost-transparent ghosts had discovered how much fun breaking glass was, and with other-worldly glee, proceeded to smash all the bottles to bits. The slightly pudgy occultist barely made it around the bar without having to dig slivers of glass out of his flesh.

"You alright, man?" Winston asked, clearly the protector of the group. The four men huddled around an overturned table, trying to plan their next move.

Ray had already brushed off the near miss, an alarming, yet endearing trait of his. "Isn't this _great_? There has to be 50 or 60 of them!"

"I can always count on you to make this an enjoyable experience," Peter said dryly, flinching as a bottle of sub-par whiskey smashed into the table, sprinkling them all with liquor.

"The question is how do we get all of _them_," Winston pointed at the ceiling for emphasis, "in _there_?" He pointed at the trap on Ray's back.

"Yeah, we'll be here all night if we try to catch them one at a time," Peter said, glancing around at the destruction. He caught a glimpse of one of the women, clearly the 'entertainment' for the evening, huddled underneath a table. "Not that I wouldn't mind or anything."

Ray's brow furrowed in thought, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling, his one-track mind paying attention only to the problem at hand. "There's so many of them. Wonder where they came from?"

Egon had wondered the same thing. "Perhaps if we locate the portal entrance, it might help us gain understanding to why they are here." He, too, was not paying any attention to the women huddled underneath any shelter they could find.

"Hell, I know why they're here." Peter pointed to the retreating figure of a dancer crawling on her hands and knees.

"Get your mind out of the gutter and get with the program," Winston hissed as Ray and Egon wisely did not pay Peter any attention.

"Wait a minute . . . look!" Ray said, pointing to the circling ghosts.

Peter glanced up at the now-familiar sight. "Yeah, what of it? They're playing merry-go-round or something."

Egon's eyes widened just slightly. "They're circling the one thing in the room that might just help us."

"You mean . . . the stripper pole?" Winston asked, his mind trying to process this new bit of information. He'd worked with them long enough to know he had to keep on his toes to follow their thought patterns.

"Sure! If one of us trains our beam on the pole, it'll shoot out just far enough for us to collect all the ghosts at one time!" Ray liked it when things were that simple.

"That's clearly not what that pole was erected for, Ray," Peter said. "But, I'll bite."

"Wait a minute. We'll have to clear out some of these men and. . . uh . . . ladies," Egon said, motioning towards the huddled groups around the room. "Just in case we can't control how the beams reflect."

Ray glanced around, almost as if he forgot they were not the only ones in the room.

"Winston, try to get them out. Find someone that knows this place and get them to help," Peter said. He may be a jokester, but knew when to get serious.

"Anything's better than sitting here like a target for these things," Winston said, crawling away.

* * *

"Son of a _bitch_!" Helen muttered. It felt like the entire building shook when someone – or more precisely some_thing_ – knocked over the entire shelf behind the bar. She risked glancing around the corner into the now-destroyed room for a glimpse of her partner. Her view was short-lived as she jerked back around the corner when a table flew by, narrowly missing her.

"Got damn good aim, don't they, Roxie?" Tammi said from behind her, clearly uninterested in the proceedings. She absently took a drag on her cigarette, dark pink lipstick staining the tip.

Helen figured the older woman had slept with scarier men than these – these _whatever_-they-weres flying around the ceiling.

And, she doubted Tammi was even her real name. Just like Roxie was not _her_ real name.

Although the ghost's sudden appearance kept her from having to go onstage, Helen wished someone would do something to stop this madness. She hated disorder, and this was about as disorderly as it got.

Her fingers itched to have her service weapon in her hands, although it would clearly do no good against anything already dead. It would just make her feel better. Give her away, but make her feel better.

"You lookin' for Ivan?" Tammi asked, the soft glow from her cigarette accentuating the wrinkles around her mouth.

"Yeah," Helen muttered, her mind going a mile a minute. Briefly, she caught a glimpse of the guys Rocco had called – what was it? - Ghostbusters, he said. Although she'd never had any dealings with any ghosts or goblins until now, she wondered if they could handle this situation.

"Your man's alright. Ooooo, the muscles! Best bouncer we ever had!" Tammi practically panted.

Helen knew she should protest, maybe threaten to rip the other woman's hair out in a jealous fit, but she just couldn't muster enough anger. Hopefully, Tammi didn't notice. Or at least realize they were in too much of a precarious situation for that to matter.

Helen thought she spotted Ivan underneath a table with another of the guys.

_Some bouncers they are . . ._

"You stay here. I'll be right back," Helen whispered, wondering why she was even whispering. After all, don't ghosts have sensitive hearing or something?

And who the hell knew she would be even thinking something like _that_ today!

What a shitty day . . .

She wrapped her way-too-thin wrap around her and hustled around the corner into the room.

"Roxie! Be careful!" Tammi hissed to her retreating back.

_Like you really care._ The woman hated her since she laid eyes on her three weeks ago. Very catty, the stripper business.

But, she pushed that aside. Too many pressing matters at hand - like the red thing getting ready to smash her with a damn chair!

Helen dove to the ground as it crashed to the wall into a million pieces.

"You little fucker! I oughta . . ."

Someone grabbed her leg, practically dragging her underneath a table.

"Roxie, what are you _doing_?" the shrill voice protested.

Helen rolled her eyes. "Trying not to get myself killed by those . . . things!" She finally realized Cindy had been crying, mascara streaming down her face. "You hurt?"

Cindy wiped her eyes on her knees, which were drawn up to her chin. She was wearing nothing but a thong, mainly because she was onstage right when the goblins descended on them like locusts. Knees draw up was the only way both of them could fit underneath the table. "N-no. J-just sc-scared . . ."

Awkwardly, Roxie patted the girl on the arm, her mind racing. She had to get to Ivan to figure out what they should do – if anything – about this situation. No time to baby sit Cindy. "It'll be OK. Just . . . just stay right here. . ." She was interrupted by another loud crash, which made Cindy jump, bumping her head on the table.

Helen took that as her cue to vamoose. She liked Cindy just fine, but she knew she'd have to comfort the girl the rest of the night if she stayed under that table.

She hadn't made it two steps when someone tackled her to the floor. Another chair crashed right next to her.

"What in the . . ." She went for the groin, not sure what in the hell was going on.

However, her knee only met air. He was either expecting her reaction or was too gentlemanly to lay on top of her for long.

Helen sat up and squinted. The asshole ghosts finally got the power supply, and the cavernous room had gone dark.

Although it wasn't like the joint was ever that bright, anyway. Who'd ever been to a well-lit strip club?

"You alright?" the voice hissed.

Helen's eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was one of the Ghostbusters. Her eyes flicked to his name tag. 'Zeddemore.' "Yeah," she said. "At least, until you landed on top of me."

"I think the chair would've done more damage."

"Touché."

"What's your name?"

"H . . . errr . . . Roxie." She almost slipped. Easy to do in a stressful situation.

"You work here, Roxie?"

They both ducked as a piece of metal – probably what was left of the cash register from the bar – went flying over their heads. She motioned towards her skimpy outfit that covered – just barely – what needed to be covered. "I don't exactly go to Mass dressed like this, you know."

Looking sheepish, but only for a moment, he pointed towards people huddled nearby. "You gotta get them out of here."

"No shit."

A roll of his eyes. "No, I mean seriously. If we're going to trap them, we need to make sure there isn't anyone who can get hurt."

If anything, she knew the value of the public following simple commands. "Since we can't even take two steps without getting brained, how do you suggest I do that?"

He thought for a minute. Clearly, this was a seat-of-the-pants kind of situation.

Not very promising if the experts weren't even sure.

"We'll distract them to give you time."

Before Helen could question this, he pointed his zapper gun thingy right behind her and pressed a button. Helen almost peed her thong as another ghost went shrieking right over her head.

"Distraction. Check," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

"Give me a minute to get back to the guys and tell them. Then, do your thing."

"Er . . . right."

But, he was already gone.

Helen had her doubts. Really big doubts.

Another hand grabbed her arm, and she yelped again.

"Shhhh. It's just me."

"Jesus, Ivan! I thought you were one of . . . them."

His blue eyes flicked to the ceiling then back to her as they huddled on the floor, as small a targets as possible. "Wishin' for your weapon, aren't you?" he whispered. Although Helen doubted anyone could hear over the racket.

"Damn skippy," she muttered back. But, no time for a pity party.

"Listen, we gotta get all these people out of here." She explained what little she was told to do.

"A _distraction_?" Ivan asked, as incredulously as he could manage in a whisper. "How're we gonna know . . ."

A bright flash of light and the scent of ozone as the Ghostbusters shot simultaneously at any of the ghosts on the ceiling. Helen and Ivan squinted as the lights pierced through the darkness.

"I think that's our cue. You go over there and get those old geezers, and I'll go over here and get Cindy and the others."

Ivan did as he was told. He learned long ago it was best where his partner was concerned.

* * *

"Anybody left?" Egon yelled as they spilled as much energy as they could from their proton packs, aiming at anything that moved on the ceiling. The little ghosts bobbed and weaved, and they actually hit few of them.

But, it did do what the guys intended – it kept the ghosts from ignoring the hustling of the patrons and employees out into the parking lot.

Winston wiped the sweat out of his eyes. When the Class Twos got the lights, they killed all the power. Including the air conditioning. "Haven't seen a sign yet. Roxie said she'd let me know."

"Roxie, hmmm?" Peter asked. "Let me guess? Some dumb blonde chick?" He aimed a little lower and actually got one of the little bastards. It spun off into the corner.

Winston ignored him, his hands full as it was. Although, he didn't think her to be dumb at all. Her eyes seemed intelligent, even in the dark. And, he prided himself on being able to read people fairly quickly.

Ghosts on the other hand . . .

A shrill whistle made all of them jump.

Winston looked back. A flashlight waving from what was obviously the exit. Weak light from outside was spilling in. Everyone was out.

"There's our cue. OK, Ray. You do the honors," Egon said.

"With pleasure," Ray said gleefully. "You got the trap, Winson?"

"Got it."

"OK, then. Here goes nothin' . . ."


	2. When in Rome

It was pandemonium in the parking lot. Girls screaming. Men swearing.

And, then the cops showed up, sirens wailing.

Ivan and Helen wisely kept mixed with the crowd. No use in giving themselves away.

One of the new waitresses – Helen thought her name was a very normal Gina – had a bloody gash on her head, and Helen tended to her the best she could with a wadded-up tablecloth until the medics materialized. Ivan got drug off by Rocco himself, and Helen was dying to know what they discussed.

Not that Ivan would tell her here. He'd tell her much later. Away from prying ears and eyes.

Tammi materialized out of nowhere, every hair in place, make-up immaculate. "Wonder how it's goin' in there?" She offered Helen a cigarette as they leaned against a car in the parking lot, some tricked-out Jaguar that probably belonged to one of Rocco's drug-dealer friends.

The bastards.

_Focus, Helen. Focus._

But, looking at Tammi, it didn't make her feel any better.

Helen tried not to be jealous of the other woman, but, hell, un-dead things were just trying to brain them all, and the woman was clearly unruffled!

Although Helen only smoked for this job to make it look authentic, she was glad for this cigarette and lit it with a shaky hand. "Who knows? I don't know if they're just all talk or not . . ."

Tammi looked at her like she was three kinds of crazy. "_What_? You've never _heard_ of the Ghostbusters?"

Helen took a drag and exhaled, the nicotine calming her nerves. "Well, wasn't there a movie or something?"

"Hell, yeah! And, they've saved the city from destruction, like, seven times! Dangerous stuff, what they do."

Helen thought of everything she'd seen. The prostitution and the drugs and gangs and all of it. "I think the living are more of a threat than the dead."

Tammi gave her a funny look. "Well, I'm going to try to get their autographs. What about you?"

Helen was saved from answering by the main door to the club flying open. One of the self-proclaimed Ghostbusters in a dark brown jumpsuit was holding something up high. "Got 'em!" he practically crowed.

The crowd went nuts. Cheering, stomping and generally craziness.

A little surprised at the crowd's reaction, Helen started to say just that to Tammi.

But, the other woman was gone.

Helen thought she spotted her dyed head bobbing closer to the Ghostbusters as they trailed out of the building. Rocco – the bastard – was close on her heels. Had to be the center of attention.

"Jeez, Louise," Helen said, flicking her cigarette to the ground and grinding it with the toe of her stiletto that made her look a whole lot taller than she really was. "You'd think it was the second coming or something."

Her jealous streak seemed to be rearing its ugly head today.

And now, she was with her butt hanging out of some skimpy-ass outfit Rocco demanded she wear, wishing she could go home – or what passed for Roxie's home – and scrub the day's nastiness from her body and her mind. The lewd looks, the gestures, the groping hands . . .

Shitty day, indeed . . . try shitty month.

The heroes of the evening were making their way through the crowd. Helen watched disinterestedly as they took congratulations and high-fives from everyone within reach. They got closer they got to where she was leaning on the Jag, her arms crossed in annoyance more than anything, trying to shift away from the excited crowd. She spotted Zeddemore, the one who'd given her instructions to high-tail everyone out of the joint, waving sheepishly to the crowd. Another one with the strangest hair she'd ever seen was still studying some weird piece of equipment, his nose practically buried in it.

Of course, anyone who chases ghosts for a living probably wrote the book on weird.

'Ohmy_GOD_!' a voice squealed in delight. "It's really _them_!"

Cindy – looking much improved from her hiding place under the table - practically threw herself on the one with the trap. He was close enough for Helen to read his uniform. 'Venkman.'

And, he obviously lurrrvveeed the attention Cindy was showering on him, along with the rest of the surging crowd.

Itching to help the cops keep the crowd at bay, but knowing that would be the worst possible thing she could do, Helen stepped to the side to avoid being trampled by one overly-enthusiastic patron – a regular to the club, she noted with distaste. A weasely fellow that went by the name 'Big John,' although he was only about 5 feet and 100 pounds soaking wet.

Even the _guys_ were getting all crazy over these Ghostbusters!

However, all he did was cop a feel on Cindy as she threw her arms around Venkman.

Figures.

Sometimes, Helen hated her job. And her life.

She whirled around in disgust, more at the little rat bastard who took any chance to get a freebie than anything.

And smacked right into someone from the crowd, almost losing her balance in the process.

"Oh, I'm sorry . . ."

He reached out to grab her arm and steady her. "Jeez, that was my . . ."

At first, Helen thought she was imagining things. After all, she was shorter than he was, if she remembered correctly. And that was clearly not the case as she looked him in the eye. And what the hell was he doing _here_? Wasn't he supposed to be some big shot professor at Columbia or something?

However, lucky for her, Ray Stantz hadn't changed much over the years. She'd have known him anywhere.

They both stared for a moment, more in shock than anything. He squinted a bit, almost as if he were trying to place her, his eyes widening after a moment in shock.

"H-helen?"

Uh oh_ . . ._

She immediately opened her mouth to shush him, glancing around to see who might have heard. That's all she needed to cap off this day –her cover to be blown! But, no one was paying them much attention.

"Hey, Ray! You found Roxie!" Zeddemore pummeled her on the back once. "Good job, girlfriend! You got those folks outta there so fast, I'd have thought you knew what you were doing."

"Roxie?" Ray said, cocking his head in confusion.

Helen knew if she didn't get out of there fast, she was in deep trouble. "Oh, Mr. Zeddemore . . . I just know how to lead a man around," she purred, hating herself for taking that route. But, when in Rome . . . "Gotta go boys! Thanks!"

With a wave and a fake bright smile she dove into the milling crowd, her heart racing at the danger she was in if Ray decided to follow. Safety in numbers.

Lucky for her, he didn't.

Hell, she deserved at least one break tonight, didn't she?

* * *

How long had it been? Ten years? Eleven?

Ray struggled to pinpoint exactly when it was he last saw her.

As his mind fought to catch up to what his eyes were seeing, she darted off into the crowd, disappearing almost as if he had imagined her from some long-forgotten memory.

Roxie? _Seriously_?

By the time he realized he should go after her – if anything to help him make sense of what was going on, she was long gone.

Winston clapped him on the shoulder. Ray had almost forgotten he was there.

"Ray, you OK, man? You look a little pale." Winston asked, concerned.

"Oh . . . uh . . . I'm fine. It was sort of hot in there once the power went out." His eyes still scanned the crowd.

"Strip joints aren't known for their ventilation," Winston said dryly, still watching his friend closely. He followed his gaze, realizing he was searching for something. Or someone.

It hit him, and he grinned. "She _was_ a cute little thing, wasn't she?"

"What? Oh . . . uh no, well . . . yeah, but . . . I think I . . . know her. _Knew_ her." His brow furrowed in thought.

Peter materialized from the crowd, one of the dancers hanging from his arm. Ray could tell she'd been crying, the mascara smudges still evident on her face. He felt sorry for her, even though she clearly was enjoying herself now, hanging on Peter's every word.

"You? Come _on_, Ray! You actually have to _go_ to one of these places first before you get to know a stripper!" Peter teased good-naturedly. "Who was that, anyway?"

"Roxie. The one that helped us out. She and the guy with the muscles got everyone out of there," Winston commented.

Peter let loose a whistle. "Good thing for her, I like brunettes, too."

Ray saw a flicker of annoyance pass over the girl's face as she still clung to Peter's arm. Honestly, he didn't much like Peter talking that way about Helen, either. If it was really Helen. He cleared his throat nervously. "I knew her . . . I think . . . a long time ago."

"You _think_? Ray, you don't just _forget_ a woman like that." Peter leaned over a whispered something in the girl's ear, and her mood lifted instantly.

Ray and Winston did _not_ want to know.

Ray opened his mouth to protest – to tell them that her name wasn't Roxie – it was Helen. And, at least from what he remembered, she wasn't anything like what Peter thought.

And, he knew Peter long enough to know exactly what he thought.

But, then again, it had been over 10 years. People change. Not always for the better.

For once, he listened to the voice in his head that said maybe, just maybe, there was something else going on here. And keeping his mouth shut might just be the way to figure this out.

Egon would be proud.

"Let's get out of here, guys. I could use a shower," Winston said, making his way to Ecto-1 and Egon, who was studiously waiting for them inside the car. He always hated crowds.

Ray couldn't argue with him there. Although he knew it would take more than a shower to figure out just what was going on.

Not once did he ever think that perhaps, it was none of his concern. That's not how he was wired.


	3. Seems Like A Strange Job

Ivan opened up her fridge and helped himself to a beer, popping the top and chugging it down before tossing the empty in the trash, emitting a satisfying belch in the process.

"Sexy," Helen muttered as she sat at her kitchen table studying the notes she had spread in front of her, mainly on the hidden caches of guns and other weapons stored throughout the strip club. At least, the ones they knew about. "You like to get on with this?"

"You're a hard-nosed bitch, Slick, you know that?" Ivan said nonchalantly, flopping in the chair next to her. "We've gone over this time and time again."

Helen tossed her pencil on the table. "I just don't want to overlook anything. This raid is scheduled for next week, and the captain is counting on us to be prepared!"

"What's to prepare?" Ivan groused. "We go in, we shout, 'Police! Hands in the air!' and everyone hits the ground. Everyone goes to jail. Bad guys: 0; NYPD: 1."

Helen had to beret him. It was how their partnership worked: he wanted to go in full steam ahead, and she held him back. "You and I both know how protected Rocco Gambini is. It would be easy for a firefight to break out. Or for Rocco to get away." Not if she had anything to say about it. In fact, she planned on the head asshole not making it to jail. She'd waited too long for this.

Ivan leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him, every muscle on his torso well-defined against his tight shirt with 'The Rising Sun' logo on the front. "You really need to lighten up. This is a job just like all the others."

Helen made a face, then rubbed her exhausted eyes. "How do you propose I have a life when I'm pretending to be some strip club dancer who's about two inches away from being a full-fledged prostitute?" Although if it allowed her to get her hands on Rocco Gambini, she just might have jumped that fine line without even hesitating. Maybe.

"Much more entertaining than you being a waitress," Ivan grinned, and Helen wanted to punch her partner.

"Yeah, Lexie just _had_ to go spraining her ankle," Helen grumped. "When Tammi volunteered me, I thought I was going to shoot the lot of them right then."

Ivan laughed despite Helen's dark look. "You were _pissed_! But, you played it well."

"It's part of the job. Had to keep my mind on the big picture." Nailing Rocco's ass to the wall. "But, I didn't have to like it."

They sat in silence, comfortable with each other. But, not because they were lovers as they pretended. Helen trusted her partner of almost two years with her life, and she knew he felt the same.

She cleared her throat. "I'm glad the captain brought you in on this."

"Yeah, because you didn't want to be underneath Rocco's desk, sending him to the moon while he wheeled and dealed."

She shuddered. "I would've had to convince them I had herpes and gonorrhea and AIDS just to keep them away from me."

"It's nice to know you wouldn't literally go all the way to catch this guy. You seem sorta – I don't know – really determined this time." He cocked his head at her in the endearing way that drove the other female staff back at headquarters gaga.

But, Helen had known Ivan Stankowski long enough to know his act. Although he was a fine-lookin' piece of masculinity, that's for sure. And, she was surprised to know he knew her well enough to realize she wanted this guy to go down really, really badly.

So much for being a closed book.

But, she never told _anyone_ that story.

She started gathering their notes and putting them back in the file, shrugging nonchalantly. "I just can't stand to see a man who takes advantage of women like he does." And that was putting it mildly.

"I believe most of those _women_ don't mind it one bit."

Helen fleetingly thought of her sister. "Don't count on it." Rising from her chair, she crawled up on the kitchen counter, standing on her tip-toes to poke the file in a ceiling, the loose tile the perfect hiding place.

Ivan watched, bemused. "You don't actually think they would search our places, do you?"

Helen made sure the ceiling tile was firmly back in place before she answered. "These people like Rocco are paranoid as hell. They probably even do full searches of the busboy's room at his mama's house from time to time."

Ivan wasn't convinced, although Helen didn't know how he couldn't be. He'd seen all the same stuff she did, and his laid-back attitude often grated on her nerves. "So, searched for bugs lately?"  
Helen jumped nimbly from the counter. "In fact, right before you got here."

"Too bad you didn't find any."

"Why?"

"Because then, we'd have to have wild, raucous sex to make this little charade believable."

Helen rolled her eyes. "Ass."

"The finest kind." Ivan rose to his feet, towering way over her now that she wasn't in her trusty stripper stilettos. She always stripped out of that get-up and back into her jeans and t-shirt as quickly as she could.

"So, what do you think about the ghosts?"

Helen blinked at the change of subject. She'd almost forgotten about them, as weird as that sounded. One-track mind. "What about them?"

Ivan stretched, his joints popping. "If I ever get kicked off the force, I might go check out joining those Ghostbusters. Seems like a cool job."

"Seems like a _strange_ job." _Funny, if she thought about it, it was just the right thing for Ray to be doing . . . _

_Ray Stantz._

_Boy, wasn't THAT a trip down memory lane._

Ivan grinned. "Any job that doesn't allow you to put a bullet in someone is strange to you, Lieutenant Helen Stephenson."

She cleared her throat, her thoughts returning to the conversation at hand. "So . . . have you ever seen anything like that?"

Another shrug. "I've heard stories. But, personally, that's the first I've ever seen up close. The last, I hope! Those little guys were _nasty_! But, I did see the movie." He looked at her. "Didn't you? It was the big thing there for awhile."

Helen shrugged.

"Too busy saving the world, huh?"

She just scowled at him as he threw her a jaunty wave and sauntered out the door.

She loved him like a brother. She really did. But, he could get on her nerves!

Helen looked around her now-empty shabby apartment, the wailing of a siren in the distance reminding her of the rough part of town she was currently residing in.

How all these women who worked for Rocco could want to live like this was beyond her. But, her safer, cleaner apartment on the other side of town was off limits. At least until this case was over.

One more week . . .

Helen had seen Ivan's place nearby. It was just as shabby as hers – believable for someone who worked as a bouncer at a strip club. However, she knew for a fact that he lived in bachelor bliss in a similar place not far from here when they _weren't_ undercover.

Men.

It should have bothered her that she had to shake her half-naked booty in front of him, but it didn't. They'd seen each other at their worst – and this would certainly qualify as _her_ worst.

Since he had a tendency to drink too much to drown out what they dealt with on a daily basis, she'd nursed him back from many a binge. If their captain found out, he could be off the force.

And Helen didn't know if she had the patience to train another partner. So, nurse him she did.

But, if he so much as cracked a joke when this was over at the station, she'd run him down with a police cruiser.

Ivan knew it, too. And, she knew he respected her too much for that.

Helen padded into her bedroom and brushed her teeth, getting ready for bed. It had been a long, crappy day. Time to crawl underneath the covers, block out the sounds of a TV from the old guy on her left and the domestic disturbance that always occurred about this time every night on the right and get some sleep.

But not without pulling out the picture taped behind her equally-shabby nightstand. Wouldn't want anyone from Rocco's little world to break in and find it, right?

It was taken right before her sister left, drawn to the lights of New York with promises of an acting career, fame and fortune.

Katie was always the prettier of the two. She was her big sister, and Helen loved her no matter what. They had their arms thrown across each other's shoulders, grinning into the camera like teenagers without a care in the world do.

But, now Helen was all alone. And, she knew that there was plenty in the world that she needed to care about.

Especially if she were to get the revenge she had craved all this time.

* * *

"_Slimer_! I swear to all that is holy, if you weren't already dead, I'd kill you my_self_!" Peter's voice could be heard all over the firehouse.

Ray was so accustomed to Peter's tirades towards the little green ghost that it barely registered as he worked underneath Ecto-1 trying his best to discover where the oil spot that was getting larger and larger on the concrete floor was coming from.

Although anyone who knew anything about cars knew the ones that leaked fluids from time to time had the most character. It was part of their charm.

And, it kept him busy. Gave him time to think. Winston wasn't there to help him, had gone to file some paperwork with the city – permits and such they were constantly required to keep. So, he was on his own with the repairs.

But, he didn't mind.

A green blur shot past him underneath the car.

"Better hide, buddy. He'll get over it. He always does."

But, Slimer was already gone, nothing left but a green spot on the floor, allowing Ray to return to his work. And his thoughts.

_Helen Stephenson. Had a sister-what was her name? Kathy? No, Katie. Ran track. Went to the University of Montana right out of high school. Parents still live a few streets over from my parents' old house in Morrisville, as far as I know . . ._

And that was about it.

As usual, even memories of people you grew up with, went to school with for years, faded to just the bare facts. Life goes on.

And apparently had been a little rough for Helen Stephenson. Or Roxie. Or whoever she was.

It was really kind of sobering, even saddening. They weren't ever terribly close, but she was always nice to him, especially after his parents were killed, and he had to make the foster home rounds in Morrisville.

Maybe it wasn't her after all. She was going to be a teacher, wasn't she? And marry some guy she had dated for years . . . now, what was his name . . .

"Ray!"

Ray jumped in surprise at the sound of his name, almost whacking his head on the manifold. "I'm just right here, Egon, you don't have to yell!" He rolled out from underneath the car and sat up as he spoke.

"I need your assistance with running the bio-checks on the containment system," Egon said, getting right to the point as usual.

"Oh. Right." It was Peter's turn to assist on this chore, which was tedious on a good day, but Peter had begged and pleaded with Ray until he promised he'd trade with him.

Ray had a sneaking suspicion that come his turn, Peter would be no where to be found.

But, that was just Peter. At least he was always there when it really counted. And that's all that mattered.

Just as Ray and Egon started towards the basement and the containment unit, Slimer came screaming down the stairs, Peter hot on his tail.

"I told you I was going to get you for sleeping on my pillow again, you slimeball!" Peter yelled.

Slimer swooshed by Egon and Ray, still screaming and babbling incoherently. He flew by Janine's desk so fast that papers floated towards the floor.

It was the last straw for Janine, who'd spent all morning organizing the bills to be mailed out for busts over the past week. Unfortunately for her, it had been a busy week.

"That is _it_!" Janine stood up so fast, her chair hit the wall of file cabinets behind her. "Dr. V, if you don't stop chasing him, I'm quitting _right now_! Right this _instant_!"

Peter skidded to a halt in front of her desk. "Promise?"

Janine shot him a scathing look as she and Ray started picking up the papers floating about. Slimer huddled somewhere nearby because they could still hear him whimpering.

She snatched the papers from Ray's hand angrily. "Sometimes, I just don't think it's worth it. No one in their right mind would do this job for what you pay me!"

Ray and Egon weren't too concerned with her threats. If she didn't threaten to quit on a weekly basis, generally in the high-pitched Brooklyn accent of hers, then they thought she was sick.

"Aw, you wouldn't leave us, Janine," Ray said, smiling. "You'd miss us too much."

"Some more than others," Peter muttered, shooting the ever-oblivious Egon a look.

The scene before him was so eerily similar to every other week's argument that Egon didn't pay it any attention. He was already engrossed in the last review of the containment system as he moved towards the basement door.

Of course, that only served to contribute to Janine's ire. Papers scattered to the floor again as she tossed the ones already retrieved carelessly onto her desk.

Peter wisely made himself scarce elsewhere. No sense poking the proverbial lion with a stick. Even he knew when to leave it alone.

Without even batting an eye, Ray helped her return her desk to some sort of semblance of order by re-retrieving the bills on the floor.

"Thanks, Ray," Janine said exasperatingly.

"No problem." Ray knew better than to comment on Egon. He'd been down _that_ road before and had no desire to go there again!

Before returning to Ecto-1, he spotted a lone sheet of paper halfway underneath the car. Bending down to pick it up, he saw the name on it and paused before he handed it to Janine.

_'The Rising Sun' Rocco Gambini, proprietor._

Proprietor? Is that what they called people who ran strip clubs?

He stared at the piece of paper in his hands, the rather impressive total at the bottom their fee for trapping and containing 52 Class Twos.

Instead of handing it to Janine, who was clearly not paying him a bit of attention as she huffed and puffed behind her desk, he stuffed it in his pocket.

After all, his name _was_ on the mortgage. If he wanted to deliver a bill in person, he had every right.


	4. The Curiosity Factor

FYI - I don't own anything by ZZ Top, either. Wish I did, though.

* * *

It didn't even cross Ray's mind that Gambini wouldn't be there. Or Helen. Details like that always alluded him. If an idea starting forming in his mind, then he went with it, rather it was a complete plan or not.

Most of the time, it was not.

It was early evening, the hazy summer sun just setting by the time the taxi dropped him off at the place. He didn't even notice the smirk on the cabbie's face as he handed him the fare. His mind was on what he was about to do.

There were more cars in the parking lot than Ray would have thought at this early hour. Granted, when they were there a few nights ago, it was like Grand Central Station.

The stench of cigarette smoke and booze smacked him in the face when he opened the door, the beat of the music almost deafening.

He had to stand there a moment just inside, allowing his eyes time to adjust, the flashing lights from the stage not helping matters any.

They'd worked fast. There was no sign of the destruction inflicted upon the place. Everything was back where it was supposed to be.

Life goes on.

"Hi, hon. Wanna beer?" a syrupy voice asking in what Ray was pretty sure was a fake Southern accent. His eyes had adjusted enough to see a girl who looked just this side of legal in what obviously passed for a waitress uniform around here, her blonde hair teased out in every direction, make-up thick on her face.

Ray had to fight to keep his eyes on her face and not let them stray lower. "Uh . . . that's OK. I'm here to see R-, I mean Mr. Gambini."

She cocked her head in what she thought was a coy manner, Ray was sure. "Really? You sure don't look like the type Rocco usually sees behind closed doors?" She said Rocco's name as if he were God.

Ray wasn't sure what the correct answer was in this situation. So, he did what he did best - he winged it. "Dr. Ray Stantz." He stuck out his hand, which the waitress shook, albeit a little bewilderingly. "We were here a few nights ago to deal with the entities plaguing the place."

The girl gave him a blank look.

Oops. Big word. "The ghosts?" he said hopefully.

That rung a bell. "Oooooo, you're one of the Ghostbusters, aren't you?" Her voice was awed, and she even forgot the accent. "I was off that night, but I _hate_ that I missed it. Hey, Joe!" she yelled over his shoulder towards the bar. "One of the Ghostbuster guys is here to see Rocco!"

Joe was about 6'6" with arms as big around as oxygen tanks. One arm even had some sort of pirate skull and crossbones on it. The other had the obligatory half-naked woman in a provocative pose. And, he did not look happy.

Lucky for Ray his occupation opened doors that normally were closed to most folks. Even if it was just for the curiosity factor.

And, for the first time, he wondered how wise it was to visit Mr. Gambini. Especially without telling anyone where he went.

Not wanting to piss off Mr. Joe the Bartender even more, Ray added, "I'm just here to deliver the bill. In person. It's a . . . ah . . . service we offer."

Joe still looked ill as someone who had just swallowed two pounds of pickled herring. But, he did reply. "Mr. Gambini's not in. But, he'll be back."

Ray knew his city. He may not have lived most of his adolescence in New York, but he was born in the Bronx. And, he'd become quite familiar with every nook and cranny – appealing or otherwise – since starting this business with Egon and Peter.

As a result, he knew the Gambinis. They'd run the seedy underbelly of New York for as long as he could remember.

Ray wisely didn't ask what Mr. Gambini was up to. He smiled. "That's fine. I'll wait."

Joe just shrugged as Ray seated himself at the bar and ordered a beer. Reluctantly, Joe complied.

The music stopped behind him to a few shrill whistles and catcalls from the men in the audience. The girl onstage disappeared behind the curtain.

Ray was just glad it was quiet for the time being.

And the waitress that greeted him suddenly reappeared at his shoulder. "So, what's it like? Chasing ghosts and stuff?" she practically purred. The accent was back. And, she had leaned in closer to him, more so he could get a glimpse of her cleavage then anything, he assumed.

Ray sighed. He hated this part. Peter ate it up, but for some reason, he never mastered the art of understanding women, let alone playing these sorts of games with them.

"It's . . . different," he admitted, taking a sip of his beer and trying not to stare.

Apparently, the waitress offered more than just her waitressing abilities.

"Lola, stop bothering the man. Get to work," Joe ordered in a even tone.

Lola. Fitting name.

Lola pouted for a moment. But, aside from being a bartender, Joe obviously had some clout at this place. Because she climbed off the stool next to Ray, much to his relief.

"Maybe next time, hon," she said before tottering off.

_Just how does she stand on those heels all night? _Ray wondered, watching her mince off in the obligatory mirror behind the bar.

When Joe moved closer to where he was sitting, he finally got a chance to ask. "So, is H –Roxie working tonight?"

Joe sized him up for a moment, then continued wiping the bar with a dirty rag. "She's in."

Very chatty, this Joe.

"Well . . . can I speak to her?" Ray felt stupid asking, but hell, how do you ask to see a stripper you think you might have known years ago?

He motioned over Ray's shoulder just as the hoots and hollers from the men around the stage started up again. The opening chords of "Legs" by ZZ Top blared at top volume from the speakers.

* * *

Helen knew she would never again hear ZZ Top without thinking of this humiliation.

How anyone did this for a living – and liked it! - was beyond her.

Lucky for her, she was a fast learner. Her few weeks as a waitress for that scumbag Rocco allowed her to pick up a few moves. Some looked easier than they actually were, but she found as long as she shook her booty enough and showed plenty of flesh, no one really cared how advanced her moves were.

And, if she kept her mind blank – totally, absolutely blank – then she could get through another routine. Ignore the blatant stares from the men around the stage. Thankfully, she couldn't see much else with the lighting in her face. At first, she'd even tried to look them in the eyes, but what she saw made her cringe. The sweaty fingers waiting with the crumpled wads of money that Rocco kept most of. Even the few who dared to touch her, despite the best efforts of the men around the stage. Not even how totally nasty this damn pole has to be with all the women practically humping it to pay the rent. It will be over in a few minutes. She could flounce off stage in nothing but a damn thong and cover up.

Besides, only a few more days, and Rocco's ass was hers . . .

Nope, can't think about Rocco either. Tried that at first. Focus her anger on him. It was all his fault she was here, the dirty, lying bastard. However, by taking that tactic, when one of the aroused patrons at the foot of the stage touched her, she dropped kicked him about four rows back, breaking his jaw.

No charges were filed. Rocco was impressed.

Nope, had to keep her mind totally blank.

Survival was the name of the game. And, she planned to come out the winner and close this sordid page in her life as soon as possible.

At least it gave her something to look forward to.

* * *

Ray was by no means a prude.

But, the moment he realized it was Helen onstage, he almost couldn't watch.

Almost.

There was no sign of the Helen he vaguely remembered with the blank expression who left nothing to the imagination. At all.

His mouth was hanging open, and he had to remember to shut it. Wouldn't want to look like a guppy. Or that he'd never seen a naked woman.

Ray was never one to judge others, but seeing Helen with those men slobbering over themselves to get a better view of her made him wonder how she went from the bubbly girl attending the University of Montana on a track scholarship almost 15 years ago to . . . this.

Not that he blamed those guys for looking.

Maybe it was because he held tightly to those memories of ponytails and innocence. Or maybe it was because he'd never run across a stripper he actually knew. Perhaps it was that stubborn honest streak he had running through him.

Whatever it was, he turned away, his face warm with embarrassment.

Although, Joe the bartender smirking at him wasn't exactly satisfying either.

Wishing for something a little stronger, he finished his lukewarm beer and tried not to look at the stage prominently displayed in the mirror right in front of him as the song wound down.

One thing was for sure . . .he's never hear that song again and not think of this moment in this sad, grimy bar with a girl that he knew for a fact had a bright future at one time onstage behind him.


	5. Damsel in Distress

The moment she hustled off stage, one of the other bouncers – his name was Lars or some other nonsense like that – whispered that she had a visitor.

A visitor?

Lars didn't even notice she only had on a thong, his eyes not once straying below her neck.

A bonus of having Ivan around as her 'boyfriend.' He could threaten to kick some ass if anyone as much as looked at her – at least, as long as they were not a paying customer.

On a good night, she couldn't help but wonder about the strange morals of these people.

She grabbed her flimsy robe and a tight-fitting shirt with "House of the Rising Sun" emblazoned across the chest, wishing for the umpteenth time that Rocco allowed just a little more cover-up while they were at work.

But, ohhhh, _nnooooo_! Not Rocco! It might cut into his profits if they covered up even an inch of flesh.

She made her way back onto the floor, Lars at her side. She'd never make it to her 'visitor' once these cretins in attendance saw her. And she was in no mood to entertain tonight, usually choosing to stay backstage between numbers anyway. Her tips were lower because of that, but not low enough for Rocco to fire her. He had the audacity to tell her he liked a stripper with scruples.

Ass hat.

To top it off, she had no idea who her visitor could be. She had no friends on this job. Made it easier to stay undercover for a short period of time. Although this month felt like a hundred years.

She'd already decided – no more undercover operations for her. After this, she'd take to the streets. Hell, she'd even do parking ticket duty!

And, surely, no one from the department would tell come here to give her a message. They had the proper channels for that.

The last person she expected to see was sitting on that barstool with an unsure expression on his face.

Conveniently, she'd forgotten about running into him. Made her job a whole lot easier if she didn't dwell on happier times, anyway. And, she had been far from innocent since her parents wired her and informed her tearfully that her sister's body had been found stuffed in a trunk in the dirty waters of the Hudson.

But, for the first time since she started this job, she wrapped her filmy cover tighter around her - not because she was cold. But because she was embarrassed.

And hoped she could get out of this without revealing her true self to her employers.

* * *

Ray watched her face when she first saw him.

A flicker of recognition. Then . . . nothing. The same blank, uninterested expression in her eyes he'd seen while she was onstage.

He didn't notice, however, how she pulled her robe tighter around her body. He was so intent on willing her to acknowledge him that he totally forgot she was pretty much naked underneath that thing.

She motioned towards the bartender, and he immediately produced a glass of ice water. She reached for it and spoke to Ray for the first time.

"Let's go outside." Her voice was low, almost as if she didn't want anyone else to hear.

Ray couldn't argue with that.

As he held open the door for her automatically, grateful to leave the desperation of this place behind, he couldn't help but notice the slight pause before she brushed past him, what he would have sworn was a ghost of a smile on her face.

* * *

Joe and Lars watched until the door shut behind the pair.

"Too bad Ivan isn't workin' tonight. He'd make mince meat outta that fellow," Lars said, reaching for a toothpick and working it in his mouth. "Reckon he's bonin' her?"

"Doubt it. Not the way his eyes practically bugged outta his head when he saw her onstage," Joe said, mixing a drink for a customer.

"Reckon we need to tell Ivan?"

Joe shrugged. "Nah. She's such an ice queen anyway, it'd serve him right." Although Joe seriously thought about telling Rocco. Anything to get in the boss's good graces.

And Rocco loved juicy gossip as much as he did money. And loyalty.

* * *

Helen led him out to the middle of the parking lot.

For a good reason. No planted electronics to overhear their conversation.

Plus, his simple gentlemanly gesture of holding the door open surprised the hell out of her. When was the last time someone did that for her, anyway?

Not that she planned on telling Ray Stantz what she was doing here.

This job was a helluva lot easier when she didn't run into people that knew her real name!

Lighting a cigarette from a pack she found crumpled in her robe pocket, she took a deep drag, vowing to quit once this was over. She studied him underneath the light from the parking lot, summertime beetles swarming around it casting shadows making it look like the ground itself was alive.

She knew it was mean, and he was uncomfortable with her silence. If it was one thing she never was with Ray, it was mean. Exasperated beyond belief, maybe, but never mean. And, he obviously didn't quite know what to say. So, it was up to her.

"Ghosts, huh? Why does that not surprise me?"

His uneasy expression vanished momentarily, and he gave her a small smile.

She'd forgotten he had dimples, and she almost returned his smile.

Almost.

"It wasn't all my idea," he admitted, kicking his foot against a beer bottle tossed carelessly aside.

It was exactly the sort of reaction she would have expected from him. Never one to take all the credit, and be sure to give credit where credit was due.

But, what he did next startled her. He looked right into her eyes, "Is there something I can do? To help?"

Not what she was expecting. A lecture, maybe. A moment to catch up on old times, perhaps. Old times that she knew for a fact were not all happy ones for him, especially after his parents were killed in that car accident.

But, not honest-to-goodness compassion. And she knew what she saw in his brown eyes was real. He might've been many things, but he was not a faker.

At least there was one good thing out of this mess. He obviously didn't know she was a cop, really thought she _did_ this for a living.

In the vicious world she'd found herself in, especially lately, it caught her off her carefully-constructed guard she'd built around herself. If anything, to protect her sanity, so she'd have something left when this case was over. When Rocco got what he had coming to him.

Rocco.

Katie, her naïve big sister who only wanted to be on Broadway, but wound up at a joint just like this stripping for a few bills.

And, she couldn't tell Ray any of it.

The anger that always seemed to be simmering below the surface returned, squelching any honest answer she might have given him, filling in the chinks in her armor. She embraced its familiarity. Almost viciously, she flicked her cigarette into the surrounding darkness.

"Raymond, are you still reading those comic books? Because you can't charge in, rescue the damsel in distress and save the world, all in one fell swoop." She crossed her arms defiantly.

* * *

OK, that stung.

But, Ray brushed it off. She was hurting. He saw it. If one kind gesture that he did without thinking - such as opening a door - could soften her harsh features, features made even harsher by the thick make-up she wore, then she was having her share of difficulties. And anything that was wounded – from people to animals to even ghosts – lashed out at whoever was closest at the time.

And for Helen, that was him.

"You're not happy here."

She snorted loudly, tossing her hair over her shoulder, her huge, sparkly earrings catching what little light there was. "_Happy_? Ray, you think women actually _want_ to do this for a living?"

"Then, _don't_! Look, I can get you several hundred." It would clean out his personal checking account, but she didn't have to know that. "Leave town. Go back to school. Whatever! Just don't stay here."

* * *

Helen shook her head in exasperation, her hair about her shoulders rustling against the cheap fabric of her gown and crossed her arms in angry defiance. "You really haven't changed, you know that, Ray?"

"But . . ."

"I haven't even seen you in _what_? Ten _years_? And you come out here dangling money in front of me like I'm a . . . well a . . .like I can be bought off!"

_Hell, Helen . . . dressed like this, what did you expect?_

Even in the dim light, she could see him flush in embarrassment at her remark.

She gleaned little satisfaction from it. She had to get rid of him, make him leave and never look back. It being cruel was what took to do it, then hell, it had to be done!

But, he did meet her gaze unflinchingly. "I . . . I didn't mean it that way."

OK, now she really did feel like a heel. Her own brown eyes returned his stare just as frankly, softened just a bit. "I know you didn't."

He seemed to relax some now that his honor wasn't being insulted.

Men.

"Look, sometimes, life doesn't turn out . . .exactly as planned. You've always been a glass-half-full kinda guy. And I respect that. I really do. But, please, just forget about all this. And me. I've become part of a system that . . . that shows no mercy."

He looked ready to argue, but stopped, almost as if he understood.

Well, sure he understood. He'd lived in New York for awhile now, apparently. While it had its perks, it sure had its disadvantages.

"And, if you go around trying to rescue strippers from a life of debauchery, some girl might take you up on your offer. And she might take advantage of you for it." She tried to smile to lighten the mood, but failed miserably. So, she took a deep breath. "Helen Stephenson is no more, Ray. And it's just how it is. So, please, don't go dredging up things that won't do anything but harm now."

Without waiting for a word of good-bye, she turned and headed back to the club, ignoring a wolf whistle from a group of men who had just arrived in a tricked-out Caddy.

She hated to be mean to him. But, this had to be stopped right here.

Because if Rocco found out who she really was . . .

She couldn't think like that. Instead, she poked all her anger, frustration and yes, even the compassion in Ray's eyes, inside the mental box she had built for herself, slammed it shut and opened the door to the club, the thumping music making her head hurt already. But, her mask was firmly back in place.


	6. A Trade

Sibling names come from the Ghostbusters Novelization. And, I don't own that, either.

* * *

Ray couldn't accept defeat. Peter would argue it was a major flaw in his character and would one day kill him, but Ray never learned the 'run away and live to fight another day' rule. Must've slept through that lecture.

And, it wasn't like this was not his first time on the receiving end of her sharp tongue. One particular memory popped in his head, and he had to smile.

She was definitely not happy after he had blown up her bicycle.

Katie used to baby-sit his little sister Jean before his parents died, and she was sent to live with Aunt Lois in the Bronx. As Katie's younger sister, Helen would always tag along. Sometimes, she would borrow his comic books, and this day was no exception. However, he was in the middle of a project – something to do with his dad's old riding lawn mower. When he blew it up, the garage went with it. Thankfully, neither one of his parents' cars were anywhere near it.

But, Helen's bicycle didn't fare so well.

She chewed him out worse than his dad did. Had to buy her a new bike and everything.

She didn't tag along with Katie much after that. Not that he blamed her. Explosions would do that. After all, he didn't mess with engines for a little while after that himself.

His life turned upside down not long afterwards, anyway.

And he didn't think about that often, and he wouldn't now.

Ray stuck his hands in his pockets, deep in thought.

His fingers wrapped around a piece of paper, and he pulled it out.

He'd almost forgotten.

But, now he had an idea.

"Hey, man, you still wanna see Rocco?"

So engrossed in his thoughts, Ray almost jumped a foot.

It was the bartender with the tats. And, he didn't look happy. Still.

Big surprise there.

"Uh . . .yeah."

Joe started back towards the club without commenting. Ray figured that must be his clue to follow.

Already forgetting about Helen's plea to leave everything alone, he followed.

* * *

"Dr. Stantz! What a pleasure to meet the man who rid my business of those pesky little twerps!" Rocco Gambini was an impressive man with an even impressive background. Because he was the current leader of anything notorious that went on in the city, Ray certainly recognized the man when he stepped out from around his fairly opulent desk, his hand outstretched in greeting. Slicked-back hair, expensive suit, the works. He certainly looked the part.

What Ray didn't expect was the man's height. Not exactly short himself, Ray found himself having to look up to Rocco.

The man's grasp was crushing, but Ray didn't flinch. "Oh, it's just all in a day's work. And, I had plenty of help." Gambini finally let go of his hand, and Ray resisted the urge to shake it to get the feeling back in it.

"Please, Dr. Stantz, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?" He motioned towards a man standing just inside the door.

"No . . . no, I'm fine. I had a beer at the bar while I was waiting."

Gambini settled behind his desk, his chair creaking when his tall frame settled in it. Ray took a moment to glance around the room. It was actually . . . tasteful. Soft lighting. Fancy furniture.

Ray wondered what sort of devious schemes were hatched back here. Just like all the bad guys in Marvel comics.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting. But, you know . . . business." He shrugged as if Ray would understand.

Ray figured what Gambini defined as 'business' was not what _he_ would define as 'business.' As he gratefully sat in a chair opposite the man's desk and tried to get comfortable, he again wondered how smart this was – meeting a self-proclaimed mafia don on his turf, one highly-intimidating guard standing just behind his back, someone who looked like he could snap him in half with a flick of his wrist. Even if the man was treating him like a long-lost friend.

Nope, this was still a bad idea.

But, he was here now. Might as well make the best of it.

Gambini pulled out a cigar case and offered one to Ray, who politely declined. So, he chose one for himself, shut the case with a snap and proceeded with the routine of lighting it. "Ahhhh. Cuban. Finest kind," he said as he inhaled deeply. "Now, tell me, Dr. Stantz. What can I do for you?"

_Here goes . . ._

Ray pulled the now-creased paper from his pocket. "I was just . . . ah . . . in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by and deliver this in person."

Gambini, cigar still clamped in his jaws, reached across the desk and took it from him, opening it up with one hand. "Yes. The bill. We've all got to keep our businesses going, don't we?"

Gambini snapped his fingers, and the guard jumped into action, opening up a safe across the room that Ray hadn't even noticed.

"So, you were in the neighborhood, Dr. Stantz?" Rocco said, bringing his attention back to him – and away from the safe.

"What? Oh . . . uh . . . sure. I had some . . . other business to take care of."

If Rocco could have some vague 'business,' so could he! Besides, it's not like he answered to this Gambini creep, anyway!

His brave thoughts helped.

Gambini watched him with a calm stare Ray found a little discerning, some of his newfound courage seeping away. But, then Gambini grinned, filling the room with his laughter.

"There's nothing wrong with a little diversion now and then, Dr. Stantz. Nothing to be ashamed of."

Ray could feel the heat in his face and mentally cursed. There wasn't much he hated more than a bully, and that's all Gambini was doing –controlling over the situation.

Wisely, Ray said nothing, just shrugged nonchalantly.

And change the subject.

"Honestly, Mr. Gambini . . ."

"Please, call me Rocco."

Fine. "Rocco, I was actually not wanting you to pay us at all." Peter was going to kill him . . .

Gambini looked shocked for a moment. So did the guard standing there with a wad of wrapped bills.

But, he recovered quickly. "Seems a strange way to run a business, Dr. Stantz."

"Please. Call me Ray. But, I did want something in return for our services."

Looking suspicious, Gambini leaned back in his chair studying Ray as a large cat studies its prey.

If Ray didn't know how Rocco came to power, he sure did now. His gaze was unnerving.

"What – pray tell – were you interested in? Because you know, any business I do is strictly legit." Gambini even managed to look regal and innocent, all at the same time.

_Yeah . . . right. And, I'll sprout wings and fly to the moon. _Ray cleared his throat. "You have a . . . uh . . . dancer here. Name of Roxie?"

The suspicion vanished, and Gambini almost looked relieved. "Oh, pleasures of the flesh in exchange for your services, huh?" he said knowingly. "However, I regret that she does not offer those . . . uh, particular services to our clientele."

Ray would've sworn the guard snickered.

However, he couldn't help but feel relieved that she didn't do . . . those sorts of things. But, that's not what he was fishing for.

"What I was wondering was . . . how much does Roxie make for you in a week?"

Gambini studied him for a moment. "Enough to allow to me keep her around."

_Yeah, like he'd tell you, Ray._ "I guess what I mean is, I want to offer a trade."

Gambini raised an eyebrow. "A trade?"

"Yes. A trade." Ray motioned towards the bill on his desk, the Ghostbuster logo at the top. "You don't owe us a thing. And, Roxie doesn't go onstage for . . . two weeks." Ray had no clue what strippers earned, so he pulled that number out of his head. Math was never his strong suit, as Egon would testify.

And, now that he voiced his idea that he had just come up with five minutes ago, it sounded really dumb.

However, Gambini appeared to actually think about it, his fingers steepled in front of his chest, his eyes focused on am imaginary spot on his desk. "A trade, huh? Interesting choice of payment, Dr. Stantz." He looked up, his dark eyes boring into Ray's, challenging him.

What ol' Rocco didn't know was Ray thrived on a challenge. "Sure, why not? You aren't out any money for not having her onstage _or_ for your bill."

"What do _you_ get, Dr. Stantz?"

No more first-name basis. And, answering this question was a little sticky. So, Ray decided to just be honest. "She doesn't like what she does. She doesn't have to do it for two weeks. But she still has a job. And at least gets paid the . . .uh . . . minimum wage salary." He shrugged, almost as if it made perfect sense.

"She know you're doing this?"

_Uh-oh._ Ray shook his head. "Not a bit. And, I'd appreciate if you wouldn't tell her." As a show of good face, Ray reached for the bill and tore it in two.

Gambini looked amused. "Don't want to share her with the masses, eh?" He didn't wait for an answer, which suited Ray just fine, as both of them stood. Gambini offered him his hand again, and they shook on it. "Fine, Dr. Stantz. It's a deal. Now, if you'll excuse me, my next appointment has already arrived."

How Gambini knew that, Ray didn't want to know. Gratefully, he moved towards the door, which the guard was holding open. He started to say good-bye, but Gambini was already engrossed in a file on his desk.

Ray knew he had been dismissed.

He looked at the guard. "There a back door out of here?"

The guard raised an eyebrow and motioned down the dark hall. "Opens to the alley. Watch out for the drunks. They're a mean bunch."

Ray figured he'd rather face the drunks than Helen if she saw him up front again. Or even Gambini.

That man gave him the creeps.

As usual, it never crossed his mind that Gambini may tell Helen what he had done. After all, they had shook on it, hadn't they?

* * *

Gambini put down the file as Lars closed the door. "What do you think of that?"

Lars shrugged. "Probably has a thing for her."

"They talked?"

"Yeah. Out in the parking lot. Couldn't make out what was said."

Gambini thought for a moment, his gears churning. "I've been in this business for years, and I can honestly say that's a first. Paying me for one of my girls _not_ to dance."

Lars waited as his boss thought some more.

"She gone for the night?"

"Her last performance was 30 minutes ago."

"Then, she's gone. As Dr. Stantz said, she doesn't like what she does." Even Rocco recognized that fact.

"Why does she do it?"

Lars wasn't known for spouting intelligent thoughts. So, his question surprised Rocco. After studying on the situation, Rocco dismissed it. After all, it did save him money. Who wouldn't like that? "Who knows? It's not my job to evaluate their brains. It's my job to evaluate their bodies. And have them make me money." Rocco paused. Even if she made him money by allowing him to NOT pay a rather large bill. "Keep an eye on her, Lars. Keep your ear to the ground. See if you hear anything about her."

"You mean with her and this Stantz guy?"

"I mean anything on her at all." Rocco went back to his paperwork.

Lars knew when to shut up.


	7. Personal Demons

Helen dreaded being called to Rocco's office. She always had to fight the urge to jump across his desk and strangle him, despite the fact there was always a guard present. It was like he didn't even trust his own people when he met with them!

No one had questioned her about Ray's visit, and she wondered if he wanted to ask her about that. Rocco may not show his face on the floor very much, but he always knew what went on. His spies were everywhere.

That's the reason she and Ivan had to be very, very careful.

While Rocco was always the perfect gentleman, his beady little eyes made her uncomfortable. They always seemed to be probing for any weakness, looking for chinks in her armor.

She hated that.

So, she made her face as impassive as possible and knocked on the door.

Lars answered, and she nodded at him politely.

He held the door open wider, and she stepped into the 'lion's den.'

The ass hole – oops, Rocco – was sitting behind his desk, that damn cigar smoke haloing his head as he finished a phone conversation, waving at her to have a seat.

Helen figured it wasn't important, or she wouldn't have even been allowed to overhear. But, she listened anyway. It was the cop in her.

"No, honey. Yes . . . uh, huh . . . uh, huh . . . at 6 . . . yeah . . . love you, too."

His wife. Or one of his girlfriends. Either way, it wasn't important. Her eyes shifted to the guard of the night. Helen wished Ivan was one of the guys who got that duty. However, since he was new and apparently not 'trusted' enough, he wasn't on guard rotation.

In a few days, none of it would matter anyway.

Rocco hung up the phone and set his eyes on her.

Helen remembered to look expectant, like this was the highlight of her day. "You wanted to see me, Rocco?"

"Roxie, my dear. How've you been?"

Strange question. Helen felt a flutter of nervousness in her stomach. "Uh, fine, Rocco. Just fine." She glanced at Lars. He just looked bored. Not like he was going to bust a cap in her ass for being a spy. So, she relaxed a bit.

"The little run-in with those ghosts hadn't bothered you, any?"

_I knew it, I knew it! This IS about Ray!_

Helen did her best not to clench her fists in her lap. After all, Ray didn't know he was walking into such a sticky situation.

She shook her head. "Nope."

"You always were a tough cookie, Roxie."

"Thank you." She hoped she didn't sound sarcastic, but damn, what exactly did he want?

Rocco leaned back in his chair, springs protesting. "I wanted you know that I'm giving you a two-week vacation. Paying you the base salary, of course."

Helen wouldn't have been more shocked if he had said he was joining the priesthood. "Excuse me, but _why_?"

Rocco puffed on his cigar and exhaled, watching the smoke float towards the ceiling. "I've been offered forgiveness of a rather large bill – saving me a ton of dough – if you don't have to dance. For two weeks."

Helen's mind flew, trying to figure this out. "That's . . . but what . . . who . . ."

At least Rocco knew the Ghostbuster didn't lie to him about her knowing this little scheme. The girl really did look stunned. "Apparently, you have an admirer. One who thought you needed a little break."

Fear shot through her. Rocco knew. He knew she was a cop. Somehow, he'd gotten wind of the raid in just two day's time.

A raid she and Ivan had to both be present for to work.

He'd just made all this up to get rid of her about forgiving a bill and such nonsense.

But, why not just kill her and be done with it? It had happened before. The last undercover agent had been discovered with his throat slit in an alleyway across town.

Another reason to kick Rocco's ass.

"I still gotta pay the bills, Rocco." And the regular salary was not enough for that. Her voice shook slightly, but she hoped he didn't notice. "Can I still waitress or something?" Arguing with Rocco would do no good. It was his show, and he ran it as he saw fit.

Rocco thought for a moment. Might as well get something out of it if she wanted to work. The tips to get her through the week would be up to the customers. "He didn't say anything about waitressing. Just not performing. So . . . sure? Why not? Although I've never had anyone turn down a vacation before."

Uh-oh. Anyone from a shoe shiner to the President would love a vacation.

She thought of something quick, rolling her eyes. "You know how the girls are around here. If one of us is gone for that long, the others move in on your tippers and such."

Rocco smiled. Another reason to love this place. The drama among all the girls was non-stop. And – aside from money and power – Rocco loved drama. "I see. You and Cindy not getting along?"

"Er . . . yeah. But, it's nothing I can't handle." She tossed her hair over her shoulder in careless indifference.

However, she had another problem. Obviously, Rocco wasn't trying to get rid of her. So there was truth behind his story. "May I ask, who in the world would . . . would do such a thing?" Although she had an idea . . .

Rocco tsked at her, shaking his finger in mock disapproval. "I've been sworn to secrecy. But, apparently, you have more admirers than I thought. And, I have a feeling you know who it is."

Helen started to scowl, but kept her face impassive as she could as she stood. "Well, if you see this _man_ again, tell him to mind his own _damn business_." She flounced out of the room in a huff, leaving a bemused Rocco behind.

Helen stormed down the hall and out into the floor, then veered off towards the dressing rooms to change. The other girls watched her curiously – everyone was always curious when they were summoned to see Rocco – but she had no patience for them right now.

Sure, waitressing wasn't half as annoying as being onstage.

But, there was more at stake here than just her dislike for her job.

And, when she got her hands on that man, he's gonna wish he'd never even heard of Helen Stephenson . . .

* * *

As usual, it was just as difficult to keep Aunt Lois steered in the right direction.

After all the usual pleasantries: How were the other guys? Was he eating enough? Had he managed to talk to Jean and Carl lately because, you know, your dear departed parents would like it that way - Ray always hated that one – he got around to the point.

"Aunt Lois, do you remember the Stephensons?"

The older woman was uncharacteristically silent. "From Morrisville, right?"

Maybe this would be easier than he thought. "Lived a few streets over from Mom and Dad."

"Such lovely people. So kind after your parents departed this earth."

Ray cringed at that sentiment. _Dead. They were dead. Call a spade a spade._

"Didn't Carl almost run off with one of their daughters?"

Bingo. Pay dirt. "That's right!" he said, a little too eagerly.

A tsking noise. "Such horrible news about the poor girl. Was dead within a couple years. Found her in the Hudson. That's what happens when you run with the wrong crowd, I suppose. I still speak with her mother on occasion. She's still suffering, poor dear, and that was years ago . . ."

Ray had vaguely remembered that piece of information already and let her ramble for a moment, using what little information she provided to fill in the blanks. "Katie had a sister, too . . ."

"Ummmm . . . that's right. Now, what was her name . . ."

"Helen." Or Roxie. Depended on what day it was. "What ever happened to her?"

Aunt Lois took rattled off what she remembered, which was surprisingly a lot. "She was closer to your age. A bright child. Athletic." Ray could almost see his aunt sitting at her desk, eyes closed, trying to conjure up what little information she knew on his childhood friend. "She went off to college, but . . . but, she came home after her sister died."

"Where's she now?" He knew perfectly well where she was, but this whole situation had bothered him from the start. Sure, Katie was always a little flighty, but the more he remembered of Helen, the more sure he was that she would most certainly not wind up as an attraction at some place called "The Rising Sun."

"Why . . . I don't know. I think Mrs. Stephenson told me something about her awhile back . . . but . . . I can't quite remember. Why the sudden interest?"

Ray rolled his eyes. Aunt Lois meant well, but more than anything, she wanted him to be happy – as in married with a family. Not sleeping in an old firehouse with three other guys and a slimy green ghost.

But, he was prepared for this question. "I ran into someone that reminded me of her the other day."

"Oh, really? Anything I should know about?"

Sure, she's a stripper and takes off her clothes for money. "Not really. Just someone I bumped into." Sure, he wasn't _technically_ lying . . .

"Well, if I think of it, I'll let you know. Come see me sometime, child!"

After a few more pleasantries, Ray hung up the phone, still with more questions than answers.

But, at least he'd tried to save Helen from her personal demons, even if it was only for a few weeks. It was all he could do.


	8. Prickly Secretaries

It wasn't very hard to find. The old firehouse with "Hook & Ladder #8" chiseled on it was across town from her Roxie apartment, and it had cost her a small fortune in cab fees just to get here.

Even if she wasn't sure by the address she got out of the phone book, the ghost logo on the sign out front was unmistakable. If she hadn't had to meet her lieutenant that morning to finalize the plans for the raid, she'd have been there earlier.

And, if she had a choice, she wouldn't have been wearing a leopard-print short skirt with a just-as tacky tight top, either. But, even a stripper was expected to dress like one while not at work. Her normal slouchy jeans and T-shirt would never do. Thankfully, her lieutenant and the others on the task force were professional enough not to comment.

She wasn't so sure about these Ghostbusters. But, at this point, she was so angry, she was liable to go bonkers on anyone who crossed her path.

Sure, Ray meant well, but this was _crazy_. _He_ was crazy! Who does that sort of thing for someone he barely knows, anyway?

Taking a deep breath, she crossed the road against traffic, ignoring a wolf whistle from a passing cab driver. Yanking open the heavy door, she stomped inside, ready to do battle.

She blinked a moment, taking in her surroundings. The car from the night at the club with all the ghostbusting trappings was backed inside. As strange as it looked, it shined like a new penny.

She couldn't say that for the remainder of the place. Definitely a bunch of guys lived here. Dusty, papers stacked everywhere, all sorts of tools imaginable piled in a precarious stack nearby. . .

"Can I help you?" a Brooklyn-accent asked, sounding more bored than anything.

Helen followed the sound of her voice. The only neat spot in the room. A woman with red hair and clothing almost as wild as hers sat behind the tidy desk, watching her curiously.

"I need to see . . ."

"Dr. Venkman's not in right now."

Helen blinked for a moment.

Oh, right. The cocky one. Probably had girls lined up around the block to giggle at his every word.

Helen's eyes narrowed as her anger ratcheted up anther notch. Like she had something better to do than follow this Venkman around! "I'm here to see Ray Stantz." Her voice was as even as she could manage, but the closer she got to ringing his neck, the harder it was for her to control it.

The secretary looked momentarily surprised and raised an eyebrow. "Uh . . . Dr. Stantz isn't here, either. But, I will gladly take a message, and he can . . . call you back."

Helen stepped close enough to her desk to read the nameplate. Janine Melnitz.

Helen knew she couldn't risk a return trip.

"I'll wait, Janine."

Janine stood, her eyes narrowing. "They could be awhile. And, it's _Ms._ Melnitz."

Okaaaay . . . Helen couldn't imagine what exactly was _Ms. Melnitz's_ problem, but she had known a few prickly secretaries in her time. Obviously, this was _her_ turf, and no one else was going to come in and tell her what to do.

That was fine with Helen. All she wanted was to find Ray and tear him a new one.

Plus, Helen figured Ray was there somewhere. After all, the crazy car was still here, wasn't it? And she distinctly heard what she would have sworn was a 'Captain America' cartoon playing somewhere upstairs. Janine was just doing her job, keeping the crazies at bay.

But, Helen had no patience for it. Not today.

"Raymond Frances Stantz, get down here _right now_!" Helen practically bellowed at the top of her lungs. It echoed in the cavernous room. Clattering and clanking from upstairs, almost sounding like someone had dropped something large and metal.

And, suddenly, she didn't hear the television anymore.

Janine looked shocked, then pissed as she came out from behind the back of her desk, meeting Helen toe-to-toe. "Excuse me, but you have no right to barge your skinny ass in here and demand to see _anyone_ . . ."

Helen knew her fight wasn't with Janine, who apparently took protecting her bosses to an art form. But, as the woman stomped in her direction, Helen was ready for a fight. She'd come for one, and if she couldn't fight Ray, she'd sure-as-shootin' fight _Ms. Melnitz._

* * *

Ray froze as his full name echoed up the stairway into the kitchen.

But, the clanging from the lab – probably Egon dropping something or other – brought him back to his senses.

He knew who it was. And, she was pissed off as hell.

And, what did he expect?

Certainly not for her to show up here.

Quickly shutting off the television, he headed towards the stairway.

If he wasn't just a little apprehensive, he would have laughed aloud at the sight of Janine and Helen standing toe-to-toe, looking quite like they were ready to fight to the death.

But, Peter beat him to it.

"Girls, girls! As much as I like a good cat fight, I need to know exactly who's fighting. For betting purposes and all." He practically galloped down the stairs past Ray, not stopping until he had planted himself in front of Helen.

Not a good idea, Peter . . .

"Who the hell are you?" Helen asked quite rudely, her attention drawn away from Janine.

"You can't talk to Dr. V that way!" Janine started, only to be shushed by Dr. V. himself.

"That's quite alright, Janine. I like a woman with a little fire in her. Dr. Peter Venkman, at your service." He looked like he was about to take her hand and kiss it or some other nonsense like that, so Helen made sure she took a step backwards.

She remembered. The cocky one. Her anger was getting the best of her.

"I don't think I need any of the services you offer, Dr. Venkman," Helen said, trying her best to control her already-frayed temper. "I'm here to see Dr. Stantz. And Dr. Stantz only."

Peter looked surprised. "Really? Ray doesn't usually go for the high-spirited type . . ."

Helen crossed her arms in annoyance. "Just because I dress like a slut, doesn't mean I'm one. Just like, I'm assuming, because you act like an arrogant piece of shit doesn't mean _you're_ one."

"Ooooo, I like you . . .and haven't I seen you before?"

The gall! He wasn't even fazed! Must take insults on a regular basis. "Look here, you dirty, rotten son of a . . ."

"Peter, it's OK."

Helen turned her attention away from the annoying Dr. V.

Ray looked cautious, and he had every right to be.

And, this is exactly what she had wanted to do, since she left Rocco's office last night. Before she realized what she was doing, she marched towards him.

Admirably enough, he didn't back off, although he definitely looked apprehensive. Granted, how threatening could she be in stilettos with fluffy pink purse on her shoulder?

She tried to keep her voice level. "Ray, how could you _do_ that? Because I didn't _ask_ for you to save me from that place!"

He looked wounded, but not because of her words. "He told me he wouldn't tell you it was me."

Helen could've shaken him until his teeth rattled. "You took the word of _Rocco_? A self-proclaimed braggart who deals in booze, drugs and women on a regular basis and murders for the _fun of it_?" She shook her head. "You really haven't changed have you, Raymond?"

Ray ran a hand through his hair, clearly befuddled at the situation. "But, wasn't it what you wanted? You hated being on that stage – you told me so! All I did was offer you a way out . . ."

"There's more going on here than you know! You could've jeopardized . . ." Oops, too much. She bit her tongue to keep from finishing that comment. "You're not the savior of all that is wrong with the world!"

Sure, he thought it was a strange idea from the start. But, he wasn't expecting Helen to be _this_ pissed. "I'll just go back and explain to him. Tell him he has to pay the bill."

"Pay what bill?"

Helen and Ray both looked at Peter, both forgetting he was there. And, Peter did not look happy. "What did you do, Ray?"

Ray started to answer, but Helen beat him to it. "Traded the fee for the ghosthunting deal to keep me offstage for two weeks."

Peter looked stunned. "Whose idea was this? Yours?" he asked Helen.

Ray jumped in before Helen could react. "She had nothing to do with it! I swear! It was all my idea! And . . . I don't regret it either." He stuck out his chin defiantly, daring both of them to contradict him.

Peter shook his head in exasperation. "I . . . I don't know what's worse – you keeping someone from paying their bill or keeping this fine specimen off stage."

"My life is none of your business, buster, so keep out!" Helen turned her rage towards Peter, then back to Ray. "As for you, don't you _dare_ go back and talk to Rocco. Just let it go. You've done enough damage. But, as I told you before, stay away from me! And my life! I don't need you running it, and I sure as hell. . . ."

"What about Katie? Do you want to wind up the same way?" He stared at her as if he dared her to contradict him.

She took a step back, almost as if he had hit her, her face suddenly pale. She didn't even know he knew about Katie!

Her expression must have given her away. Ray took a step towards her. Suddenly, all Helen wanted was to get out of there. "Look, Ray, just back off, OK? There's . . . there's more going on there than you know. All you'll do is . . . is make things worse."

"I thought her name was Roxie." Helen turned at the sound of her fake name.

She recognized Zeddemore from the night at the club. And the one with the funny hair was standing right beside him, his expression amused.

Great. Just great.

This was a bad idea, coming here. The best thing to do was cut her losses, leave and learn to deal with her anger in a manageable fashion – like maybe take up papier-mâché or something.

"Her name's Helen Stephenson. She was almost my sister-in-law," Ray's quiet voice startled her, and she whirled back around. Ray looked like he thought she might hit him.

She probably should, dammit!

"Yeah, Carl was always a grade-A ass hole," Helen retorted, surprising even herself.

Wait a minute.

Didn't she come here to tell Ray where to shove his do-good attitude? And now, look at her . . . reminiscing like old friends!

This was crazy! Insane! Certifiable!

Maybe when all this business was over, she should check herself into a mental institution. She'd heard Bellvue was nice this time of year.

She met Ray's eyes, once again touched at the concern she saw there.

Why couldn't he be an ass hat like his brother? This would make this a _whole_ lot easier!

Helen took a deep breath. "Look, Ray, for the last time, just stay away. No more visits with Rocco. No more visits with me." She paused. "I'll be fine in a day or two. I swear. Don't make things more difficult for me than they already are, OK?"

Ray nodded hesitantly. "Fine. No more visits."

Helen knew Ray. Once he got an idea in his mind . . ."Or phone calls. Or letters. Don't even send out a smoke signal!"

Morosely, he nodded again.

Helen whirled around and click-clacked across the concrete floor, shoving open the old door so hard in her anger, it slammed against the outside wall with a bang.

It took her ten blocks to cool off enough to realize she was going the wrong way.

* * *

Egon was the first one to speak.

"Raymond, you never cease to amaze me."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Egon."

Egon shook his head and returned to his lab, thoughts already skipping ahead.

Janine wasn't so forgiving. "Ray, if she shows up here again, I will _not_ be responsible for my actions." The ringing of the phone interrupted her diatribe, and she stomped towards it in response.

"Yeah, Ray, she's clearly not your type," Peter added.

"But . . . no one ever said I wanted her to _be_ my type!" Ray argued. What a mess. Of course, what did he expect? If he didn't stop to think something through, this was a common occurrence. "And, she's not like that. I swear."

Winston through an arm around Ray's shoulder. "People change Ray."

"Yeah, well . . . not that much," Ray muttered.

"Not everyone can be as consistent as you in the 'never change' department," Peter said affably. "If we can count on you for anything, it's never changing."

"Ray, it's for you," Janine said, holding the phone out for him impatiently.

Glad to change the subject, Ray took the receiver from her.

But, the subject wasn't exactly changed. "She's a police officer with the NYPD!" Aunt Lois said proudly, not even bothering to introduce herself.

Ray struggled to keep up with her train of thought. "Who . . ."

"Helen! I just remembered because her mother showed me pictures of her graduation day from the academy awhile ago. She looked mighty solemn, if I remember correctly, nothing like the sweet child I remember . . ."

Ray didn't listen to much else as his mind churned.

_A police officer? How did she go from a police officer to . . . ?_

He almost dropped the receiver.

No _wonder_ she was angry!

Or was that just his overactive mind going wild on him.

Ray didn't even realize Aunt Lois had asked him a question. "What . . . oh, sorry, Aunt Lois . . ."

"I asked you if maybe it was Helen you ran into. After all, she is there in New York?"

"Uh . . . probably not. This girl . . .wasn't a cop." No use in getting himself – or Helen – in any deeper trouble than she was already in.

After he hung up the phone, it hit him.

If it really was an undercover sting, then he really could have messed it up. Royally.

His first instinct was to find her and tell her he knew. Tell her he was sorry. Sorry for thinking she was a prostitute and sorry for butting in.

Sorry for almost getting her killed?

Would that have happened if they found her out?

His stomach sank to his toes. Dangerous. Really dangerous.

Well, sure, idiot. Rocco may have seemed polite on the outside, but he was still evil on the inside.

"Ray, man, you OK?" Winston asked.

Ray shook himself, figuring he looked as pale as he felt. "Oh . . . nothing. Just . . .I was just thinking."

"Must be serious stuff. Hey, will you hand me that crescent wrench over there?" Winston pointed, returning his attention to the engine of Ecto-1.

Automatically, Ray did as he was told.

No, he'd made things bad enough as it were. He needed to stay out. As much as he didn't like it.

But, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had not seen the last of Helen Stephenson – alive or otherwise.

* * *

As you probably are already aware, Ray's middle name is only assumed due to a comment in the first movie. - ainttooproudtobeg


	9. Lied

Helen and Ivan met at her place again after hours to go over the final details of the plan. The raid would start at exactly 10 o'clock. They had discovered that Rocco was always in-house from about 9:30 p.m. to 11 p.m., no matter what sort of mayhem he had wrecked on the city that day. Helen didn't know why. Maybe he liked to count his money and get off with whoever was onstage.

Quickly, the task force would cut the lights, then raid the place. She and Ivan would have to pretend to go along with the crowd and surrender to the police.

But, Helen had other ideas. Ones she sure wasn't going to mention to her partner and friend.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. After all, they knew this plan front, backwards and sideways.

"So, what's been eatin' you?"

"Me?"

"No, the other pissed off brunette at the table. Yeah, you," Ivan sassed.

Helen started gathering the papers up, anything to do with her hands. "Just want this to be over with."

"The captain said you were ill as a hornet in that meeting today. Something's bothering you."

And Ivan would know. They'd done this long enough for him to know she might be focused this close to a raid, but not downright pissed.

But, Helen already had a good answer for this. "This is the first deal where I'd had to run naked in front of half of New York. It would've pissed you off, too! All you had to do was flex your muscles!"

"Hey, our last one, I had to work in the sewers for eight weeks! It's about damn time you had to do something you didn't like!"

Helen resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

"So, what's the deal with the Ghostbuster? How'd he know you?"

Helen dropped the papers in her hand on the floor, and they scattered underneath the table.

Muttering a curse, Helen bent over to gather them. Ivan didn't offer to help, just waited for an answer.

An answer she had to come up with quick!

"He . . . uh . . . just thought he knew me." Weak, very weak, Helen . . .

"So, did he?" Ivan asked patiently.

Helen stood up and stared him right in the eye. "No."

So? She lied to her partner? But, she knew she would be yanked off this case if anyone thought she would put it in jeopardy. And she was not putting anyone in jeopardy! She'd called Ray off and figured, by the look on his face when she stormed out, that he had finally gotten it through his thick skull to keep out of her affairs.

The only one in jeopardy was Rocco.

And, when this was all over, she really probably should explain to Ray. Although she hadn't seen him in years, she always remembered him fondly. And, he sure hadn't changed one bit.

At least life doesn't make _all_ of us bitter.

Sure, personal vendettas on the force were not uncommon, but she was always professional. When she finally got put on this case after sucking up to the right people, it was the answer to her prayers. Although, she did not disclose to the hiring authorities how she had put together that the death of her sister was resulting from working with Rocco. All she had was a couple of letters and one scared phone call. But, she knew deep inside that Rocco was the one to blame. There was no proof of it in any case file anywhere. So, when they did the same rundown they always did before each case – do you know any of the accused? Have you ever had any contact with them? – she could honestly saw no.

"I think he has a crush on you," Ivan interrupted, watching her with a bemused expression on his face.

Helen rolled her eyes as she balanced herself on the kitchen cabinet, her convenient hidey-hole awaiting its treasure of paperwork. "Who knows?"

"I heard about the deal he made with Rocco."

Helen knew she had to play it cool. "How?" she asked, as she jumped lithely from the cabinet.

Ivan studied his fingernails. "Let's just say Lars likes to talk about more than the boss's drug runs."

She shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm glad Lars likes to talk as much as he does – he's been a big help in all this." Change the subject . . .

Ivan took the bait. "You know, it seems to be a little _too_ easy. Why would Rocco have someone on staff who blabbed like that?"

Helen began to pace. "We've already discussed that, Ivan. We even checked out a couple of the areas he said weapons were hidden in the place, and he was right. Why would he lie about some things and not others?"

"Because he's a crooked asshole," Ivan answered .

"I agree with you there. Just don't worry about it. Plans are made. It ends tomorrow. If anything, we can get all those guys on illegal gambling or something."

Ivan stood and stretched. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Well, see ya' tomorrow Slick. Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She heard him shut the door to her apartment behind him, and she followed and threw all the deadbolts.

Be glad to leave this damn place, that's for sure. Her real apartment probably had a coat of dust an inch thick, but at least it was home.

If she made it.

There was always that nagging question. Especially the night before. Sure, her parents knew she was a police officer with the NYPD, but she didn't tell them this part. It wasn't unusual for her not to contact her parents for a few weeks, anyway, so when she met with her lieutenant while undercover, she always took a moment to call them. Let them know she was still breathing.

But, ever since she heard about her sister's death and realized that the frightened message she got the night before her sister died – 'Helen, I'm in trouble. He thinks I squealed on him . . .' – no one would believe Rocco had anything to do with it. There was no tangible proof.

Proof, her ass. Katie was her sister, and Rocco had her throat slit and threw her in the Hudson.

Helen mourned at first. Then, she got mad.

The anger never went away.

She fed it, stoked it, promised it revenge. She could almost feel the gun in her hand, the sound of her pulling the trigger, the look on Rocco's face as he realized she'd shot him.

Sometimes, it was all she had.

And, she couldn't get close to the man any other way but with the NYPD. When she'd quit school, her mother had been appalled. A police job was not for a lady!

She was never close to her parents after Katie died. It was a part of her they couldn't quite understand.

For once, Helen didn't listen to her mother's protests. She'd done what she wanted.

And now . . . finally! . . . she'd get her chance!

* * *

Helen thought she was going to be sick.

This was it. She and Ivan had found out all they needed to know. Hidden caches of weapons. Who was on duty. Ivan had even managed to buddy-up to a few of the other bouncers – some a little more involved in the activities of The Rising Sun. A few dates of upcoming drops were even available, thanks to her dumpster diving. A sizable amount of cocaine would soon be off the streets. Most importantly, she wouldn't have to be on this stage after tonight. She should have been ecstatic.

Instead, all she wanted was to wrap her hands around Rocco's neck and make him beg for mercy.

It was difficult to go through the motions. Arriving at work, speaking to the other girls, putting on her waitress 'outfit.'

At least she had Ray to thank for that much – she wouldn't be wearing only a thong when her fellow officers in blue raided the place that night.

She desperately wished for a weapon at her side.

But, it was too risky. So, they were at the mercy of the NYPD until someone gave them a weapon or whisked them away. If they were caught as informants, then they couldn't be used as informants again. Their identities would be advertised in the underworld of New York, and it was no more cases for them.

What they _didn't_ know was Helen had no qualms about getting caught. As long as she took Rocco down personally. And, she had already hidden a gun in her pink fuzzy purse – not as formidable as her service revolver, but the little .357 will the hollow-point bullets could still kill.

And that's all she planned to do with it.

She caught Ivan's eye as she juggled a large order of beers for a group of college kids out for a night on the town – bad tippers, if her memory served. Ivan glanced at the clock and winked at her.

Fifteen minutes to go. The task force would be assembling outside in unmarked vehicles. Some of them were already inside, posing as paying customers. In fact, Helen wondered if one of the 'college kids' was in fact one of the new guys . . .what was his name? Greenwood? Greenworm?

Her mind always rambled when she was nervous.

Joe had her drink order filled, and the moment she turned away from the bar, balancing the tray as she had learned to do early on, the club went dark.

Murmurs of concern from the patrons. A squeal from one of the girls – probably Cindy. But, all Helen could do was stand there, frozen, her mind trying to remember who and what exactly was around her.

But, only one thought persisted.

_It was too early . . ._

The back of her neck prickled, and she threw the tray full of beer glasses to the floor with a crash and hit the ground right next to it.

A gun went off, and the bullet whizzed right over her head.

Heart pounding, she crawled away from where she was – whoever it was knew that was her last spot she was standing before the lights went out.

_They knew . . ._

Helen made herself calm down, take deep breaths. As long as the lights were out, she was safe.

Now that one gun had gone off, everyone with a weapon started to fire at nothing but shadows. Because, Lord knows, they couldn't see anything!

With that many guns going off, Helen knew some of them had to belong to the other police officers posing as patrons.

They were told _not_ to engage until the entire task force was there!

But, no one told them they would be ambushed.

Unarmed, Helen's heart pounded as momentary flashes of lights from the guns helped her locate who was shooting. She had to get to her weapon in the backroom.

_That's right, keep your head on your shoulders. You'll get out of this._

Joe kept firing, and Helen knew he had an unlimited supply of ammo behind the bar. Plus, the bar was solid oak and would probably hold up to everything but a Confederate barrage.

"Fuck!" Helen heard the familiar voice and the sound of someone tripping in the almost pitch-dark as he used his favorite curse word. "He _knew_ better! He's going to ruin it for all of us!" Ivan had spotted Greenworn, too.

Helen was so glad Ivan found her, she could've kissed him. "What the hell happened?" she hissed as they huddled in a corner, making themselves as small a target as possible.

"I dunno." They both instinctively ducked as a stray bullet whizzed overhead. "How long until they arrive?"

"Eight, nine minutes. Too late, if you ask me." Another burst of gunfire. Others were getting into the act. "Either way, we've got to arm ourselves and get the hell out of here."

Helen had no intention of getting the hell out of there. Not without what she wanted dangling right in front of her. "Stop Greenworm or whoever the hell he is. Tackle him if you have to. Then, both of you get out of here. Take some customers with you."

"What about you?" Ivan whispered hoarsely.

"I'll meet you outside," Helen answered as she deftly moved away.

"Sure, Slick, whatever you say."

Ivan was good. She wouldn't have tolerated him if he wasn't. Or left him alone. He'd be fine.

She'd get her gun . . . then she'd get Rocco.

* * *

The .357 felt solid in her hands. Steady. A gift from an old boyfriend who'd taught her the finer forms of shooting a weapon. Got her in with the NYPD on her target shooting, that's for damn sure.

It was stuffy in the dark room with only a few of the emergency lights working. Not enough to show much of anything.

The city inspectors would have a fit.

Gunfire still erupted from the stage, but it was muffled behind closed doors. So far, Helen had only seen two other girls huddled behind the lockers. She ignored them, grabbed her gun and tossed the pink purse unceremoniously back in her locker, not even bothering to lock it behind her.

She didn't plan on being back.

Someone was yelling now, but she ignored it as sweat trickled down her back behind the flimsy material of her uniform.

She'd studied the layout of this place and knew it in her sleep. Carefully, she made her way out of the dressing room towards the back and Rocco's office.

Shuffling was all she heard. Someone was still back there.

Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears, and it took all the training she'd had to focus on the job at hand. Shoot the motherfucker and get out.

She'd probably have to discard the .357 somewhere, but no one would try very hard to figure out who shot him. The entire NYPD would just be glad he was gone.

Until the next piece of scum stepped into line to take over. And there was always another. She wasn't naïve enough to think this would stop all the crime in the city forever.

But, this piece of scum was hers.

Just a few feet to the door, which she sensed was open just a crack. Hopefully, he was inside, scrambling for cash or drugs or whatever before he snuck out, not knowing he was about to get what he deserved . . .

When someone grabbed her from behind, she didn't have a chance to scream, let alone get away, as the hand went over her mouth and nose, choking her shocked response. He grabbed her hand, making her drop the gun, which he retrieved and flung down the hallway harmlessly.

"Ahhh. I see you made it."

A trickle of fear down her spine. She knew that voice. Heard it in her sleep as he taunted her sister before he killed her.

She struggled, but Rocco had her firmly.

No, no, _NO_! It wasn't supposed to _go_ like this! Every little sound was magnified in her fear – the shots from the front room, crashing, a few screams. Even her own heartbeat seemed to almost deafen her.

And the feel of the short-barreled shotgun pressed into her ribs.

Before her brain could kick into high gear with a way to get her out of this, the lights came on, blinding them both. She stomped on his foot, and he grunted with pain. The jab of the gun in her ribs disappeared, and she wrenched herself out of his grasp.

By the time she sprinted to the end of the hallway, she knew he would recover and shoot her in the back. So, she did the next best thing.

She ran into his office and shut the door, locking it behind her, taking a precious second to gather her thoughts.

_He'd have a key, dumbass_.

She shoved a liquor cabinet next to the door right in front of it, a few of the bottles crashing to the floor. He could still shoot through it, but it might by her some time.

Fiddling with the doorknob, then banging on the door. "_Bitch_!"

The cock of the shot gun was unmistakable. Immediately, she launched herself behind his desk.

Where right underneath was a sawed-off Winchester rifle bolted to the frame – the perfect weapon to reach for while sitting at the desk and no one would know.

She didn't hesitate, pulling the trigger twice.

The bullets thunked into the cabinet, breaking more of the bottles.

A muffled curse from outside.

Helen held her breath, waiting. For what, she didn't know. But, she saved a few bullets just in case.

It was either him or her, and she wasn't going out without a fight.

More crashes, these closer. Shouting.

Helen waited.

Then, a voice from the hallway. The one voice she heard in her sleep and plotted revenge against for years.

"You'll get yours, Helen Stephenson. Just like your sister."

Helen held her breath.

How'd he know about _that_?

How'd he know about _any_ of it?

Of course, why else would their plan be botched to hell and back?

In frustration, her sweaty finger pulled the trigger, slugs embedding themselves in the wall harmlessly.

She stopped when the trigger hit against an empty chamber, her ears ringing.

Nothing. Not a sound.

She didn't realize how tense she was until there was a shout, and she jumped.

"NYPD! Show yourself!"

Not Rocco.

Helen swallowed her anger and frustration and called out. "It's me! Helen!"

"Shit, Helen, is that really you?"

Helen thought she was going to cry. "Yeah. It's me." She stood on shaky legs.

"You by yourself?"

"Yeah." She rubbed her hand over her face. _I never would've thought . . ._

One thought surfaced. Her head snapped up, adrenaline pumping again. Forcefully, she shoved the now-destroyed shelf out of the way and flung open the door. _"_Did you see him? Did you get him?"

It was Rogers, dressed in full SWAT gear. The wild-eyed expression on his fellow officer's face shocked him momentarily. "Who?"

"Gambini! He was just out here!" Helen looked both ways. Other officers milling about, securing the area.

But, no Rocco.

Rogers spoke into his mike, asking the same question and waited for a response.

"Negative, Sun One. He got away."

"Fuck! Fuck! _FUCK_!" At this point, all she could do was rant. Hitting Rogers would never do – he was almost a foot taller than her and weighed almost twice what she did.

Rogers kept talking into his mike, his lifeline to what was going on around them. But, all Helen could do was stew.

Until she heard one phrase.

"Officers down! Officers down! Call the medics!"

* * *

Yeah, yeah. The guys are comin' back. Just have to tell my little story here to keep things going.


	10. A Dead Sister

"Boy, they're busy tonight," Winston said as he turned down the scanner on Ecto-1's dash.

"It's Saturday, the moon's full and it's New York. What do you expect?" Peter replied as he slouched in the passenger seat next to Winston, the lights of downtown whizzing by in a blur.

"Actually, Peter, that's not a scientifically proven fact. When the moon reaches the peak of its cycle . . ." Egon started.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Peter waved him off. "Those scientists just haven't seen what I've seen in this town over the years."

Ray let the familiar ebb and flow of their conversation float about him. Winston was right. It had been a busy day. Two class fours and a host of class twos, and that was in the last six hours. Peter was just thrilled that all of them paid their bills on the spot.

Ray was glad he didn't have to deal with that side of the business. Peter was certainly well-suited to be the bill collector. But, as tough and stubborn as he was, he did know when to back down.

_Probably why he didn't grill me any harder than he did about The Rising Sun deal._

Of course, _that_ made him think of things that were best left alone.

Ray turned and looked out the window as Peter and Winston argued between themselves about what was for supper, the New York scenery buzzing by in a blur of lights as the police scanner they usually kept with them squawked at low volume.

He'd found it hard not to think of Helen over the last few days, especially now that he knew she was with the NYPD. Not one to keep things to himself very long, he'd shared that fact with Winston not long after his aunt called.

Winston didn't seem surprised. But, nothing ever seemed to phase him. And, he said she knew what she was doing, or her superiors wouldn't have put her in that situation to begin with.

Ray wasn't sure if Winston meant the strip joint or the operation itself.

Although not a worrier by nature – and he had the scars to prove it – he couldn't get her off his mind. Not that he was actually _worried_ or anything. He just wanted everything to be . . . right.

He hadn't seen or thought about Helen in years, but one thing he recognized when he laid eyes on her was the fact that all was not 'right.' Not because of the stripper pole or the skimpy outfits. It was on her face. In her eyes. The look of . . . of total helplessness.

Something was driving her to do what she was doing. Something personal. And Ray would know about personal demons, demons thought to be conquered that reared their ugly heads on occasion.

Reaching out was obviously not an option, if her little visit to the firehouse held any meaning. Maybe after her stint at the club was over . . .

'Officers down! Call the medics!'

Ray blinked, the static on the radio making it hard to hear, and his wondering mind making him wonder if that was what he really heard.

The steely voices kept talking. 'How many?'

He practically leapt over the front seat, reaching for the volume on the scanner.

"Jeez, Ray, if you didn't want Thai, just say so," Peter muttered from the passenger seat, oblivious to the scanner droning next to him.

Ray found the volume just in time as Egon watched him. "Shhhhhh!"

"Stankowski. Robertson. . ." Lots of static that almost made Ray curse with frustration. He didn't even know where this drama was unfolding, but he had a strange feeling he wasn't going to like it.

". . . can't find Stephenson . . ."

Ray felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach and sat back heavily in the seat. He didn't even have to say anything. Winston hit the sirens and was already making a U-turn, heading towards The Rising Sun.

* * *

Ivan was dead. There was nothing the medics could do. She'd seen that stare before. The empty eyes. The slack features. Even the smell. But, she'd only seen it in the streets, mostly druggies found dead in alleyways or the homeless that froze to death on frigid nights.

She hadn't seen Katie. Her body was too decomposed, and the casket was obviously closed during the short service.

Never a fellow officer. And never, ever a friend.

The moment she heard that there were officers down, she ditched her fruitless efforts of catching Gambini – the bastard! – and went in search of her partner. Her partner that she'd abandoned.

And she found him, a lieutenant screaming into a headset for the medics standing over his bloodied body.

Part of his head was blown off.

Joe and his shotgun. Who was no where to be found, apparently.

Helen's first thought was a medic would do no good.

Right as the medics hustled through the door, her second thought was she left him to fend for himself.

Not only did she leave him when the fighting was the most furious. She left him – not for police business – but to deal with her on vendetta.

Helen sank to her knees despite the gore, but didn't touch Ivan as the hustle and bustle of the other officers securing the scene went on about her unnoticed. The medics working on him were trying their damndest. She knew they were.

And, not for the first time, she wished she were anything but a police officer.

Not only did Gambini get away, but she'd lost her partner. Her best friend. The one person who she knew would have her back any time and any place.

But, apparently, _she_ wasn't as loyal. And it had gotten him killed.

_It's not your fault. It could've happened with you standing there. He knew the risks. And, the whole point was to catch Gambini._

_It's not your fault._

Those thoughts didn't soothe the ache in her chest. In her heart. The ache that had been there since her sister disappeared, then reappeared dead. The ache that had followed her through the Academy and every other case she worked on.

Even the medics knew a lost cause when they saw it, despite they fact that losing a fellow police officer was almost like losing one of their own.

Helen turned away as they covered him with a sheet, one of them writing in the time of death on his chart with blood-smeared hands.

"Stephenson?" A gruff voice.

It was Captain Dean. Sure, he'd be there. It was a large raid. An important raid.

And, they'd botched it.

Dry-eyed, Helen glanced up.

"What's this about a dead sister I keep hearing?"

* * *

"Are you _sure_?" Peter asked again. Ray's hurried explanation concerning their destination had him perplexed.

"It makes sense," Egon said. He liked it when things fell into place in an orderly fashion. Which was rare when Ray was involved.

They all braced themselves as Winston took a sharp corner, tires squealing. "She really _wasn't_ there because she wanted to be. Just doing her job, like the rest of us," Winston said sensibly, eyes on the road.

Ray had spilled what his aunt had told him to Peter and Egon, and they had both responded as he thought they would – Egon with thoughtful silence and Peter with disbelief.

"They're not going to let us in, you know," Egon said, glancing at Ray as the city zipped by. "The security around the site will be amazingly thorough."

So far, the scanner hadn't given Ray any answers to Helen's status. Had they found her? Was she even alive? Had she been shot, too?

Frustrating didn't even begin to describe the situation.

"I've got to know," Ray said simply, willing the car to go just that must faster.

"Patience was never your strong point," Peter pointed out as they came up on the scene, their own flashing lights blending in with the numerous vehicles from the police department around them.

Ray didn't even hear him. He was out of the car before it came to a stop.

Peter started to follow, but Winston stopped him. "The fewer people wandering around here, the better."

"But, what if he finds her . . . you know . . ." Peter asked, already losing sight of Ray in the crowd of people gathered along the fringes of the parking lot.

Peter always cared more than he let on.

"Then, we'll be right here," Winston said, putting the car in park.

* * *

One of the FBI agents had loaned her a jacket, which did wonders for covering her top half.

Her legs, not so much.

And, as she gave her superiors a quick rundown of what happened just before back-up arrived, she found that she had developed a case of the shakes. She wasn't even cold, but she wrapped her arms around herself, if anything to keep anyone from noticing.

One of the SWAT members had heard Gambini's last words to her.

_You'll get yours, Helen Gambini. Just like your sister._

As she sat in the back of someone's reeking police cruiser – probably Tankowitz, who smoked like a freight train despite the rules against it - she knew a more detailed review was forthcoming. Just like she knew her career with the NYPD was probably over. At least as an undercover officer. She hadn't told them about a critical development in her life, had somehow managed to keep it hidden. And, although no one would dare suggest it now, it might have screwed up the entire operation.

And killed her partner.

Somehow, she couldn't muster the effort to care about losing her job. All she saw in her mind was her partner's remains, his brains spattered across the floor of a sad strip joint, another statistic in a world full of them.

For now, they left her alone with all their questions. There would be plenty of time to sort through that later. Right now, evidence had to be collected. Maybe something could be salvaged from all this failure. They had made a few minor arrests, after all.

But not Rocco.

With a trembling hand, Helen rubbed her face. The adrenaline had long wore off.

If she allowed herself the luxury for tears, now would be the time for it.

* * *

Ray had prowled the perimeter of the blockade the police had erected to keep sightseers out. He'd even asked about Helen, forgetting no one outside of the NYPD was supposed to know she was even there.

No one was releasing any information.

If allowed himself time to think about it, it made sense. It was a tight operation that had obviously gone wrong. Enough people had already been hurt or killed, and no one was going to release any more information until otherwise told to do so. Plus, who was he to them? A guy in a tan jumpsuit getting increasingly frustrated with the entire situation, that's who. They didn't have to tell him anything.

He'd seen the injured body being loaded into the waiting ambulance, obviously ignoring protocol. Ambulances didn't carry dead bodies; hearses did.

All Ray could tell when he made himself pay attention to details was whoever the unlucky bastard was, it sure wasn't Helen. The boots peaking out from underneath the sheet proved that much, helping to ease the panic he was trying so hard to keep at bay.

_But, they said 'officers.' Plural. More than one._

Plus, the flashing lights were about to give him one helluva headache.

Ray wished for one measly ghost to show up. Anything to allow him access to this place! If Slimer were here. . .

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement from one of the police cruisers, its lights flashing silently. An open door, so not someone they arrested. Even his tumultuous mind recognized that fact. Someone they trusted. Someone who just needed a place to sit for a moment . . .

Without thinking he squeezed around one of the barricades just as the cop on guard duty turned his back.


	11. Home

Helen wanted more than anything for this to be over. Or – better yet – a bad dream. She could wake up, stretch and be at home in her little apartment without any water stains on the ceiling. No one dead. No one wanting revenge. No one out to get her or punish her or anything.

Her eyes blurred for a moment, and she blinked, biting her tongue until she tasted blood.

Tears won't help. Won't change a thing. Lord knows, she knew that.

She stared at her stiletto-clad feet on the pavement, her arms still wrapped around herself to keep the chills at bay.

_No, tears won't change a thing. Won't even make me feel better_.

Desperately, she searched for the anger and hatred in the dark places of her soul that had fueled her for so long. If anything, it would give her the ability to get out of this car, yell at a few people and even thumb her nose at her superiors for even thinking about threatening her job. She'd relied on her anger so long to keep her going, and she almost needed it now to keep from falling to pieces just like this damn case.

It just simply wasn't there.

It had been so long since she'd been without it that she almost didn't know how to function.

"Helen? Are you OK? Are you hurt? What _happened_?"

Someone practically fell all over themselves to get her, immediately kneeling at her side.

Helen blinked once, surprised at the intrusion.

Ray managed to take one of her hands in his as his eyes searched hers. He saw nothing of the anger and frustration he'd seen in them since she'd popped back into his life. Instead, he saw something else. Something a little more . . . helpless. Maybe even a little sinister.

"Helen? Say something."

She waited for the surge of anger – she'd specifically told him to butt out, hadn't she?

But, there was no anger or frustration towards the man in front of her who was now rubbing her clammy hand between his palms with nothing but concern on his face.

When was the last time someone looked at her like that – like they really cared?

She took a ragged breath. "I . . ."

But, she didn't get to finish.

"I told you this was a secured area, buddy!" One of the officers grabbed Ray by the collar and hauled him to his feet.

Helen jumped out of the back of the car to stop any further insult. "Wait a minute, Mark! It's OK! He's with me!"

Mark looked suspicious for a moment. "He's been pestering the guys along the perimeter. Knew too much."

Ray wisely kept his mouth shut. For once.

Helen cross her arms defiantly, her chin up, and said the first thing that came to her mind. "How the hell else did you think I was going to get home tonight? I didn't know if any of you assholes would even give me a ride. Now, let him _go_!"

Reluctantly, Mark let him go, and Ray wisely backed up out of reach next to Helen. The fire in her eyes was back, and he had to admit, he was glad to see it.

"You're not going home tonight," Mark said.

Helen's eyes snapped, almost as if she was glad to have an outlet for her anger. "_What_? Just why the hell _not_?"

Ray wondered for a moment as he watched the scene unfold if maybe he needed to back up a little more out of her line of fire. Just to be safe.

"Gambini threatened your life, Sergeant Stephenson."

Helen whirled around. "It's not exactly the first time, sir." Her tone was still angry, but just a bit more respectful.

Captain Dean didn't even seem to notice. He'd been around long enough to see all manner of reactions from his subordinates. Although he'd had limited dealings with women officers until recently, he found their reactions to situations not much different from their male counterparts. Generally pissed. And scared. "Until we find out he's out of our jurisdiction, you'll have to stay at a safe house."

Helen's anger almost seemed to leak out of her in one big wave. She leaned against the car wearily. "Can't I just have a guard at home?" she pled. It was all she wanted right now. Her own bed. Her own apartment. Her own dead plants to toss out. Even her own clothes. Her Roxie outfits were driving her bonkers.

The burly Captain Dean shook his head. "You'll be staying at one that already has a snitch in residence. I need all the manpower I can get to track down some of Gambini's associates and see where exactly it was he fled to." He didn't say it, but 'out of my hair,' was heavily implied.

Helen hated those places. The rundown house seemed to ooze desperation, either from the people they were trying to protect or the officers tortured with such boring duty, she didn't know. Sparsely decorated. Old magazines scattered about. It was an awful place to be, especially for an unspecified length of time. And after what she'd gone through. That's all she needed. Some rookie watching her with wary eyes when all she wanted to do was scream in frustration at this entire situation. Or cry. Or even shoot someone.

But, all of her arguments were petty, and even she recognized that fact. She'd have to stay there as long as the captain deemed necessary. As Gambini got away.

Plus, no one ever argued with Captain Dean and got away with it. "We'll send a car for you in the morning. I want you in my office at 0800 to tell me exactly what happened here." The captain's voice was steely, his eyes even more so.

Helen couldn't have looked any more stricken. Funny, it was so easy to hide her emotions before. But, now that it almost felt like her soul was laid bare to all these people, she had a hard time even keeping her hands from shaking as she nodded once in response.

"She can stay with us."

Everyone turned to look at Ray like he had just spouted some grand pronouncement.

Ray could tell Helen was not happy, and it was all he could think to do to fix the situation. "We've got plenty of room. If you don't mind sleeping on the sofa," he said earnestly.

The captain looked at Ray almost as if he hadn't noticed him standing there before. But, he did recognize him. They'd had to deal with the Ghostbusters on occasion, although personally, the captain thought it was all a bunch of hooey. He glanced at Helen who still looked to be in shock. "You know this guy?" He pointed at Ray with his thumb.

"He's an old friend," Helen mumbled.

"I came to take her home," Ray added, in what he hoped was a helpful manner.

Captain Dean looked disinterested. "0800" was all he said before he disappeared into a huddle of other officers.

"He always in that good of a mood?" Ray asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

But, Helen was not in the mood to be lightened. "You don't have to do this, you know. I'm not some . . . some stray to take in off the streets."

"I know that," Ray said honestly. "But, I've lived in enough foster homes to know how impersonal they are. Those safe houses can't be much different."

Helen didn't know what to say. If memory served her correctly, Ray seldom wanted to discuss the events that led up to him being put in foster care, let alone the foster care itself. For him to be so candid – on this subject at least - was not what she remembered.

But, there were other concerns than her feelings right now. Rocco was loose.

"It could be dangerous."

He dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. "He's probably 100 miles from here."

Helen hoped he was right. Then again, she didn't.

She hadn't seen Ray in years, yet he was inviting her into what served as his home without even asking any questions about what transpired tonight.

It was surreal.

Honestly, the _whole damn thing_ was surreal!

Before Helen even realized it, with one hand on the small of her back, he led her away. Past the curious glances from her co-workers. Away from the prying questions she knew they would ask eventually.

And away from the place that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

"Hey, man, you found her!"

Helen looked up, her mind struggling for a name for the man leaned against what she now knew was called Ecto-1.

Winston.

"And she is certainly among the living," Peter added from his perch on the hood.

Dr. V.

Helen didn't feel like commenting, although she knew he was talking about the bare state of her legs in the mini skirt.

"She's staying with us for awhile," Ray said.

"Where's she sleeping? With you?" Peter asked.

Ray opened up the passenger door and motioned for Helen to climb inside. Too exhausted to argue, she did as she was told, ignoring Peter in the process.

"No, Peter, not with me," Ray said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Or with you," he quickly added.

Peter had to smirk at that.

"The couch will be just fine for a few days."

No one else asked anything, just accepted what Ray said, trusting him to make the right decisions.

She rarely saw that sort of trust within the force, let alone with civilians.

Ray climbed in beside her and shut the door. Even with Winston in the driver's seat, there was enough elbow room.

_They don't make them like this anymore. A lot like my first car . . ._

Helen hadn't thought about the '56 Chevy in years. It was her father's, and it became hers when she was old enough to drive. A tank. Held lots of giggling teenagers. Her sister hated it and refused to drive it while they were in school.

She let her mind wander, her befuddled brain settling on a happy memory as a diversion as Winston deftly pulled into traffic, putting the flashing police lights behind them.

It became Katie's when she left for Montana. A free ride was a free ride. No one could find it after her sister died, and Helen always wondered what happened to it. Was it driven into the Hudson? Thrown in there like so much garbage? Just like her sister? Or did Gambini keep it for himself – ride around it in every so often to take a trip down memory lane?

Did he kill her in it?

Helen shut her eyes against the mental image that haunted her, clenching her fists in her lap and squeezing her eyes shut all that much more to block it.

Even her happy memories twisted into something horrible.

A voice from the backseat, a question. But everything seemed so far away, sounded so far away.

_Katie's dead . . . now Ivan . . . countless others . . . who's next?_

The shaking returned, this time with a vengeance. Even wrapping her arms around herself couldn't stop it from being noticeable.

She flinched when Ray touched her arm.

Although the high that day had flirted with 100 degrees, Winston reached for the heater knob.

"She's probably in a mild state of shock," Egon said from the backseat.

"Jesus, Ray, what happened back there?" Peter asked.

"I honestly don't know," Ray said. By now, Helen's teeth were chattering. "What can we do?" he asked Egon, his eyes never leaving Helen. Although she flinched away from him when he touched her arm a moment ago, he couldn't just sit there and watch her suffer. Without even thinking about it, he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him, hoping it would help.

"Just her circulatory and nervous systems reacting. Once her blood pressure gets up to normal, the shaking will dissipate." Egon was matter of fact with his verdict, although he watched the scene unfold from the front seat interestedly.

She buried her face in Ray's chest, her entire body trembling so badly, he would have done anything within his power to stop it. He hated feeling helpless. It helped if there was something he could _do_!

But, a muffled voice gave him an idea of how to help.

"T-talk to m-m-me." Her teeth were chattering so much, she almost couldn't speak those few words.

As usual, Ray said the first thing that came to mind. "About what?"

"Anyth-th-thing," she whispered.

A talker by nature, for once, Ray was at a loss for words.

"I have a question. Just how long have the two of you known each other, anyway?" A voice from the backseat.

Peter.

Bless that man.

That's all the encouragement Ray needed.

He launched into the story. "My family moved from the Bronx to Morrisville when I was about eight . . ."

* * *

Ainttooproudtobeg here – and I think I'm stepping into Sheila Paulson's world here by mentioning Ray growing up in foster care. Just so you know that wasn't my idea. But, I liked it. So, I used it.


	12. Sam Cooke

Helen couldn't quite focus on everything Ray was saying. What soothed her the most was the deep rumble of his voice against her cheek, his arm a comforting weight against her shoulder. It was calming, along with the movement of the car and the distinctive smell of an older model vehicle. Focusing on any little thing helped her collect her wits about her.

_That's right, Helen. Take deep breaths. Calm down. Don't let them think you're a wimp._

As the trembling eased a bit, she heard a bit of what Ray was saying.

". . . older kid – I can't remember his name – had been picking on me since I'd arrived . . ."

"Ch-charlie Sneed-d."

Ray paused, seeming surprised she had spoken. "Right! Anyway, I stood up to him one day after school."

"The usual?" Peter asked.

A chuckle from Ray. "Yeah. I lost."

"I figured as much."

"Right after he walked away crowing like a rooster, leaving me laying on the ground with a bloody nose, Helen walked over, held out her hand and helped me up. Handed me my backpack and said . . ."

"That was the d-dumbest thing I've ever s-seen."

Ray smiled, patting her absently on the arm. She wasn't shaking so much now. It was working.

Funny, she remembered all this, too.

"How many times have we said the exact same thing?" Peter asked. Although he'd never admit it, he was enjoying this conversation.

"Yeah, he weighed twice as much as I did, so it wasn't my finest moment."

"Did he bother you again?" Winston asked as he maneuvered through the night traffic.

"Sure. All throughout elementary, junior high and high school. Along with half of the town's population close to his age." He managed to shrug although Helen was still buried in his chest. "Everybody has a story like that I imagine. But, I did get my revenge."

"What did you do, Raymond?" Egon asked.

"It had to be an explosion," Winston added.

"Weellll, it wasn't supposed to be that _big_ of an explosion. And, it wasn't even all my idea. It was Helen's."

"Really? She likes to blow things up, too?" Peter asked.

"We were lab partners our senior year. Alphabetical, you know. Stantz. Stephenson. Anyway, by then, Charlie was in our class, having failed two or three times. And, he was at the same table we were in chemistry. Did everything he could to cheat and be a big nuisance. Helen had this idea to mix up a few of his chemicals and mislabel them so when the teacher came by to help him with something – and he always had to – he'd cause a small fire, and Charlie would get blamed. So, we snuck in there after school. I figured it would just be a flash fire, something like that."

"You gotta watch those women, they'll get you in trouble everytime," Peter said wisely.

"Well, it really was both of our ideas," Ray was quick to come to her defense. "But, when the damage estimates came back, the principal was not amused. He suspended me for a week, right before graduation, too."

"Wait! Just you?" Winston asked.

Ray seemed to falter. "I . . . uh . . . told them . . ."

"He t-told them it was all his idea and that I had nothing to d-do with it," Helen sat up a bit, but left her cheek against Ray's shoulder. She had forgotten about this story, but the reminiscing helped her keep her mind off her troubles. "He missed the prom and everything."

"Your boyfriend would've probably kicked my ass if I let that happen." There was no malice in Ray's voice as he reached up and brushed her hair out of her face. "But, you made it up to me."

"How?" Peter asked, skeptical. He was honestly surprised to learn they didn't even date in high school. Not the way both of them were acting right now.

"The night of the dance, she came by my house. I think I was with the Gables by then. Not as strict, and slept like the dead. I heard rocks against my bedroom window, and when I looked out, there she was in her sparkly blue dress standing on the front lawn."

"You went to the dance anyway?" Peter asked.

"She had promised me one dance before all this happened. So, that's what we did. Me in my pajamas, and she in her prom dress with no shoes." He paused, almost as if he were enjoying the memory itself. "We danced to the radio in her car. A Sam Cooke song, I think . . ."

"'Bring it on Home to Me'." She remembered, too.

"Your boyfriend didn't know?" Peter asked. It'd been years since the drama of adolescence had plagued any of them, but Peter remembered how this worked.

"We had fought over something stupid, I'm sure, and he had dropped me off early. All my friends were still at the dance, so I started to drive back. I went by Ray's house first. I owed him that much." She paused, thinking about how he had offered her a place to stay tonight without even knowing the entire story of what happened at the club. "Still do, apparently."

She blinked as Winston hit the remote to open the garage doors, the light from inside the firehouse streaming onto the sidewalk. Deftly, he backed the car inside and shut it down. Everyone else streamed out of the car. Ray didn't move.

She realized he was looking at her. Beyond caring what anyone thought at this point, she met his gaze.

"You alright?" he asked.

She shook her head no.

A pained expression "Yeah. I guess so." He opened the door and climbed out, offering her his hand to help her from the car.

Another gentlemanly gesture that couldn't help but make the ends of her lips turn up.

Janine glared at her as she stood on her own wobbly legs. Helen couldn't blame her. They didn't exactly part on good terms.

When a green blur shot by her heading straight for Peter, she couldn't help but let loose a small shriek, stumbling backwards into Ray. "Judas _Priest_, what the _hell_ . . ." Whatever it was left some sort of nasty slime all over Peter, who cursed at it accordingly.

"Get back down here, so I can zap your green ass and put you in the containment unit!"

Incredulous, Helen followed Peter's gaze towards the ceiling.

There it was. And . . .yes, it was . . . was _grinning_!

Amazing!

"Oh, that's just Slimer. He won't hurt you. Will you, Slimer?"

The green blob spoke rather enthusiastically. And it sounded a whole lot like "No way, Ray."

Helen shook her head a little, almost as if she didn't believe what she was seeing.

"Takes a little getting used to, doesn't it?" Janine offered grudgingly.

Helen swallowed and nodded.

"Since it appears you'll be visiting us for awhile," Janine glared at Egon and Winston who were busily taking equipment out of the car. No one noticed her wrath at being left out of the loop."You look like you could use a nice long shower. There's bound to be something around here you can wear." She took Helen by the arm and dragged her upstairs.

Helen didn't argue. A shower did sound good.

_That's right, Helen. One step at a time. You'll get through this. You always have before._

"I think I can find something for her!" Ray called up the stairs. "Give me a sec!"

He disappeared.

Helen continued following Janine towards the bathroom. It was rather clean considering four men were the only ones who used it.

"You look like you've been hit by a tank. Towels are in the cabinet." was all Janine offered before she teetered downstairs.

Helen looked in the mirror and winced. Make-up smeared, hair in disarray . . .and was that blood on this jacket?

For a moment, Helen thought she was going to be sick, but she fought it, gripping the sides of the porcelain sink. Enough of this foolishness!

But, her nerves were still shaky. Not something she was accustomed to.

Instead, she removed all the offending clothing, getting what she was pretty sure was Ivan's blood from her sight, and tossed them in the trash. No more Roxie.

The water was heavenly, and Helen wished she could stay there forever. However, from experience, she knew she could stay in there until the water turned icy cold, and her problems would still be waiting on her just beyond the shower curtain.

Problems.

Now _that_ was an understatement.

At some point, someone – Helen figured it was Janine. Or maybe Peter – had placed neatly folded clothes inside the doorway.

Had to be Janine. From what little she knew of him Helen was sure Peter would've ventured further inside.

The T-shirt, obviously old, made her smile.

"You Don't Know Ecto"

The shorts were several sizes too large, but the drawstring helped. After drying her hair the best she could and combing through it with her fingers, she briefly wondered if this is what she would have to wear to see the captain tomorrow and get her punishment.

But, she was too exhausted to care at this point.


	13. I Don't Like It

Janine had made it quite clear when she started working for them that she did not clean. As a result, the firehouse had a rather lived-in look that rarely bothered any of the inhabitants – Ray included.

However, even to the untrained eye, this place was a mess.

After he threw out the magazines – most of them Peter's and not exactly something he wanted Helen to see – and the old pizza boxes, what they called the living room wasn't really half bad.

_Gambini threatened your life . . ._

He shook his head to rid himself of the words from Helen's crusty captain, his chest tightening at the mere thought of it as he searched for halfway decent extra blankets and a pillow.

Threatened her life.

He slammed the door of the locker that served as their makeshift linen closet a little harder than necessary. He'd met the man, sat in his office, shook his hand. And he knew, without a doubt, that Gambini could kill on a whim.

_Not if I have anything to say about it . . ._

"You really didn't have to. Go to all the trouble, I mean."

Ray whirled around, startled out of his rare hostile thoughts by her soft voice.

It was all he could do not to stare. "Oh, it's . . . OK . . .," he finished lamely.

Now, _this_ was the Helen he remembered. Her face devoid of all make-up, she looked as young as he remembered, despite the tired lines around her mouth and eyes, her damp hair curling on the ends. Arms crossed protectively across her chest, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other as he openly stared. "I take it this was your shirt."

"What? Oh, . . . uh, no." But I wish it was.

Get a grip, Stantz.

"It was Egon's. It was, well, it was the smallest one I could find."

A small smile that made his heart beat just that much faster. "It sounded like you." She padded past him in bare feet and flopped on the couch, ignoring the fine layer of dust that rose from the cushions. Absently, she poked at the pillow and gathered the threadbare blanket around her, then stared at her hands in her lap.

Whatever happened out there tonight had sobered her to the point she looked lost. Ray's heart went out to her. But, for the life of him, he didn't know what to say to make any of it better.

And, he wasn't naïve enough to think mere words would fix anyone's problems.

"You want anything to eat?"

She glanced absently at the kitchen he motioned towards, realizing for the first time that this was one big room. "Uh, no. I'm fine. I think . . . I think I just want to sleep."

_And forget all this for a little while._

It was unspoken between the two of them, but Ray knew what she meant. As much as he was dying to know what exactly transpired in the club, he knew this was not the time.

"I hope I'm not intruding or anything." She yawned after she said it and made herself comfortable.

"Don't be silly. As you can tell, this place is big enough for . . . well, a whole squad of firemen!"

He'd earned another small smile from her, and it felt like a huge victory just to see it on her face. Even if it didn't reach her eyes.

"I'll have to have the grand tour later." Another huge yawn.

Ray turned to go, sensing she was about to drift off to sleep.

"Ray?"

He stopped and turned around, his hand on the light switch. "Yeah?"

"Thanks," she said sleepily.

He smiled at her. "See you in the morning."

But, she was already asleep.

* * *

"I don't like it," Winston said, arms crossed as he leaned on Peter's messy desk.

"What? The fact that we have no clue what happened out there or the fact that there's a woman wearing Egon's shirt sleeping on our couch for an undetermined number of days?" Peter said, his feet propped on the scarred desktop.

The shirt comment earned a glare from Janine on the other side of the file cabinets as she pretended not to listen.

"I don't know. If I knew the whole story, I would probably feel better about it. But, he threatened her life, man! What if she brings that here? On us?" Winston was still disturbed.

"My knowledge of those types of dealings is small, granted, but how could she ever be tied to us?" Egon said.

"Ray met with Rocco just a few days ago. Helen was the subject at hand. That's a good enough tie to me," Winston pointed out. "Plus, how many people saw her leave with us? We're not exactly invisible in that car."

"Besides, what could he do? Leave her to fend for herself? You know Ray as well as I do," Peter said.

"She's a cop. I doubt she's the helpless type," Winston said, thinking.

"I dunno. Seemed pretty helpless to me on the way home," Peter said.

"No matter how hardened you think you are, something always comes along to shock you," Winston said. He would know. "We don't really even _know_ her. Neither does Ray, really. I just hope he knows what he's doing."

"Or _who_ he's doing. Roxie? Helen? Hell, we're not even quite sure what exactly her name is!" Peter said, setting his feet on the ground with a thump.

"Oh, c'mon, Peter. Not everyone jumps into bed with the first skirt that walks across his line of sight," Egon deadpanned.

Peter smirked at his friend's attempt at a joke. "She's hot, but waaaay too much baggage."

"Even for you?" Egon asked, adjusting his glasses.

"I don't think it's that serious, guys," Winston said, getting the subject back on track. "You know Ray. He can't stand to see anyone who might need help go without it. As long as it keeps us out of the line of fire . . ." he shrugged.

"Are you telling me we can't take on a mafia don?" Peter asked with fake innocence.

"Ghosts are one thing. Bullets are a whole 'nother ballgame," Winston replied. "After all, their little police sting fell through some how or other, so this Rocco guy has to be good. We need to keep our eyes peeled. In a few days, when they hopefully find out this character has left town until things cooled, she'll go back to doing whatever it is she does."

"Until he shows back up," Egon pointed out.

"And that's _her_ business," Peter said. "It's _our_ business to convince Ray that it's none of _his_ business."

"I think it might be a little late for that," Egon said, more to himself than anything. He wasn't as oblivious as they liked to think he was. And, if it were obvious to him that Ray was smitten with her, then it had to be obvious to them.

Peter and Winston didn't say a word.

But, Janine did. "I was afraid of that!" she yelled from her desk.

* * *

The single bulb swinging from the ceiling did little to light the stark room.

"How bad is it?"

The little man in front of Rocco's makeshift desk looked like he'd rather be anywhere but there. "They got the coke. And some of the guns."

"But, not all?" Rocco cracked his knuckles as he spoke, focusing on a spot over the man's shoulders just to make him sweat.

"Not the ones at the warehouse downtown. Just the ones at the club." He shifted nervously, hating to be the bearer of bad news. Rocco didn't like bad news.

"When Lars gets out, he's mine," Rocco hissed between clenched teeth. "He never could keep his mouth shut." Although he was the one to run in there at the last minute with the information he and Joe had dug up by hacking into the NYPD database.

"It was a good idea, though, feeding information like you did. That way you'd know who was blabbing by who was getting the information," the messenger said in a rush. "Worth it, don't you think?"

Rocco waved his words away with his hands as if they were annoying mosquitoes. Sure, Lars knew about the guns, so he'd blabbed. The drugs – no one knew about. They'd gotten lucky. Or were damn fine police officers.

Although he'd never admit it to the hired thug on the other side of his desk, he didn't think Roxie was the plant. Cindy, maybe, but not Roxie.

And Ivan shocked the hell out of him. Not like a cop at all. He could usually smell them a mile away. The police were getting better and better at this . . .

But, at least that lying cocksucker was dead, thanks to Joe and his trusty shotgun.

Rocco made a mental note to look Joe up. From what he could tell, the man had gotten away before the cops arrived. Always handy to have a good man by his side. And he was a little low on those right now.

"So, you want me to get the plane ready?" the weasel asked, voice shaking a bit at asking the boss a question.

Rocco disdained such fear, but fear meant his subordinates would follow his rules to the T. But, a little backbone would be nice. "I don't think so."

"But, Rocco, you gotta get out of town! Every cop within a 30-miles radius is looking for you . . ." A withering glance silenced his protests.

"Well, they'll just keep looking, won't they?"

The little man wouldn't dare protest again, although he did think going after the broad was a mistake. And, since one of their own was already dead, cops tended to get extremely riled after that. Clearing town until the dust settled seemed best.

But, he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Whatever you say, Rocco."

Rocco dismissed him with a flick of his hand, and he gratefully scurried out of the room, leaving Rocco to his dark thoughts.

Katie was just an afterthought in Rocco's life, one of the many girls he shared his bed with on occasion. However, although she pretended to be as airheaded as most of them really were, she caught on fast to what he was. And maybe, just maybe, he let her find out. It gave him power to show others what he was capable of.

Instead of impressing her, though, it scared the hell out of her. She wasn't as worldly as she liked to think she was. So, he had to get rid of her.

One of his henchmen did it for him. It was several years ago, so he couldn't remember who. The one thing Rocco hated to lose more than anything was not the broad, but her car. He loved that Chevy, but they drove it into the river where it sank like a rock. Rocco didn't even know where it was dumped; better that way in case he was interrogated. But as far as he knew, it was still there. It was just unfortunate that the girl's body surfaced.

But, his men did a good job. Nothing was tied to him. She was living a hard life, after all, so any number of people could've killed her, poor thing.  
He didn't even know she had a sister. Let alone one who would haunt him years later. But, it all clicked into place after he learned her real name from a breathless Lars.

Right before that, his paranoia had hit, and he started feeding some false information along with a few true bits that could be sacrificed to various people he felt were leaks in his ship. It was handy, as long as he kept up with what he told to who. When the cops or his rivals arrived, Rocco could easily point to who was blabbing.

Rocco sure wasn't expecting such a full-scale operation, though.

However, this was the largest piece of his operation that had been taken from him in years, which wasn't all Lars's fault. Roxie/Helen and Ivan did their job well. Part of it was his fault. He never thought the cops would try again so soon after the guy who practically screamed 'police' was found dead after trying to work undercover in his operation.

They'd obviously learned from their mistakes.

But, the outcome would still be the same. And Rocco didn't make idle threats. Because of Helen, he'd lost a huge source of income that could take years to recoup.

He'd get his revenge. One way or the other.

Maybe that plane wasn't such a bad idea . . .


	14. Stars

Helen awoke with a start, the familiar nightmare fading as she tried to figure out where she was, Katie's cries for help still echoing in her mind.

Bleary-eyed, she looked around the darkened room, flinging the blanket off.

Oh . . . right.

She sat up, her head in her hands, waiting for her heart rate to return to normal. The dream came and went, sometimes going a few weeks before she conjured it up in her sleep. But, it was always the same. Katie begging for help, running for her life.

But, just as in real life, there was nothing Helen could do to help her.

_And now, he's after you._

Helen rubbed her eyes and looked up . . . and right into the ugliest set of teeth she'd ever seen.

She jumped back, still startled, although Ray told her not to be.

Talk about bringing home your strays.

All the green thing did was stare at her, floating in midair.

Helen didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

"Uh . . . hi?" she offered.

"Hi." It was garbled, but she knew what it said.

"Wow . . . so you can . . .uh . . . talk."

"Uh huh uh huh uh huh." It nodded enthusiastically. It pointed at its green chest. "Slimer."

"Uh . . . right. Slimer. I'm Helen." She felt like an idiot for talking to a ghost, but hell, it was just that kind of day, wasn't it?

It startled her when it held out his hand. Helen was first appalled. However, her curiosity got the best of her, and she hesitantly reached out and shook once.

Her own hand came back covered in green goo.

"Oh . . . ick!" she wiped it hurriedly on the couch.

Slimer just giggled and disappeared through the wall leaving a slimy mark where he'd disappeared.

Helen felt like she'd entered the damn 'Twilight Zone'.

Shaking her head, she rose on shaky legs and wandering into the kitchen for a glass of water, helping herself. The kitchen was fairly clean, glasses neatly lined up in the cabinet.

If she had to choose which one of those guys was the neat freak, she wouldn't choose Ray. Certainly, he hadn't grown out of being a slob. Not much else had changed about him, so why that?

Absently, she wandered over to the oversized window and glanced outside, the water glass still in hand. The alleyway below was dark. If she craned her neck, she could see past the tree at the end onto the quiet street.

A glance behind her to the clock. 3:15 a.m.

Well, at least she'd gotten _some_ sleep.

The vestiges of her dream still haunted her, as it usually did, and she shivered as she thought for the umpteenth time about the day her sister died.

A glance upward. The moon was bright, but she could just make it out sliding closer to the horizon.

She wished she could see the stars. In New York, you wouldn't even know stars existed. But, she liked to look for them, anyway, if anything for assurance they weren't alone in the world. Not necessarily aliens out there in the sky, but maybe, just maybe something more. Something larger than them all that had a whole lot more confidence that she did over life.

Raised a good Catholic, she hadn't been to Mass since her sister's death. Saw no need in it, especially after she started with the NYPD. After all, what sort of God would allow such suffering and claim to love the world He had created?

Maybe that's what the stars were. The souls of those who had died watching over them. Waiting for the rest of the world to join them in their vigilant job in the sky.

If her crazy little idea were true, then Ivan would be up there, too. Watching. Wondering just why the hell she had abandoned him when he needed her most.

She lay her forehead against the cool pane, her breath fogging the window, and tried not to think at all.

She didn't even notice the green ghost watching her with sad eyes.

* * *

A fairly heavy sleeper, Ray rarely found himself being jarred awake by the least little sound.

Probably had something to do with the fact that Slimer woke him up by babbling incoherently just inches from his face and pointing wildly out the door.

After assuring himself Slimer would surely be acting even stranger if someone had managed to break in who meant to harm anyone – especially Helen – he noticed a dim light glowing from the hallway from the kitchen.

Well, of course, she probably wouldn't be able to sleep. From what he had heard, most police officers assumed insomnia was just part of the job.

Shushing Slimer the best he could, Ray tossed back the blankets and, as quietly as possible, padded from the room. He was just going to check on her. Make sure she didn't need anything. After all, isn't that what a good host was supposed to do?

Only a lamp next to the couch was on, casting a weak glow about the cavernous room. Judging by the twisted state of the blanket, he knew what part of the problem was.

Nightmares.

He sighed. Wasn't anything he could do about that, either.

"Do you believe in Heaven, Ray?"

He turned towards the sound of her voice. She was propped on the window sill in the kitchen, leaned against the glass that looked out into the shabby alleyway below. But, the alley was not what held her interest. It was something only she could see in the dark recesses of her mind.

"I guess I'll believe it when I see it." It was as honest an answer as he could give.

"Spoken by the man who believes in the boogeyman." There was no malice in her voice.

"Oh, I've seen the boogeyman."

A weak chuckle. "Of course. I forget you chase ghosts for a living."

"The boogeyman isn't a ghost, you know." He only said it to try and lighten the conversation, maybe bring out more than a chuckle from her.

"Don't start using your science on me, Ray Stantz. I'm liable to run screaming into the night." She wiped at her face with her hands.

Even from the doorway, he could tell she had been crying, the tears on her face glinting weakly from the lamplight.

He hated women's tears. His helplessness left him rooted to the spot.

Helen rambled on, and all Ray did was listen. "I've often wondered if our story – our lives here on this earth – were written long before we were even born. Someone or something," she motioned out the window, "knew how we would celebrate, how we would suffer. All of us. Not necessarily God or Buddha or Moses, but . . . something." She wiped more tears away. "I guess it's just my way of trying to make sense of things that make no sense at all. Because, I'd hate to . . . to think that once we're gone – we're gone. Poof. No more. One minute we're here, and the next minute, we cease to exist."

"Class Threes." Ray said it before he realized it. Then, he wished he hadn't said anything at all.

For the first time, she turned to look at him. "What?"

"Uh . . . class threes. Paranormal entities with distinct personalities and forms. They become Class Fours when we identify who exactly they were." He felt foolish for even bringing it up. "So, sometimes, you don't _exactly_ leave this earth."

But, Helen didn't seem to think anything of it. "So, not all ghosts are . . . like the ones at the club that night?"

This was a subject Ray was much more comfortable with, and he eagerly continued. "Those were Class Twos – manifestations that can manipulate their environment to their advantage."

Helen wiped at what was left of her tears. "And . . . Slimer?"

"Class Five. Ectoplasmic manifestations not in human form. We think he's a by-product of some sort of cult ritual, but we're not really sure."

She was silent for a moment, soaking it all in. "I always thought the things that went bump in the night were just a product of my imagination."

"Not all the time." He was just thrilled to note that her tears were about gone.

She glanced out the window once more. "You were always more open to things than most of us."

"Got a few black eyes to prove it," he joked. "And a containment unit in the basement full of those entities."

"Too bad Charlie Sneed can't see you now, huh?" She managed a half-hearted smile in his direction.

Ray laughed. "I guess so."

An awkward silence yawned between them.

"Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever wonder how your life would've turned out if your parents had lived?"

It was an old sadness, an ache that had been with him for more years than he could count. He swallowed hard. "Sure." He shrugged. "But, that'll get you nowhere fast."

Helen wearily walked back to the couch and sat, her hands clasped in her lap. "Since Katie was killed, my whole existence revolved around revenge. I know how unhealthy that sounds, but I wanted to make the man who did this to her _suffer_!" She beat her fist once on her leg for emphasis. Not once did she think it was unnecessary to voice her deepest fears and concerns to someone who was pretty much a stranger to her. By now, she was beyond caring. "I lost my partner in the process." She pointed out the window. "And, _he's_ still out there. Plotting. Killing. Terrorizing. And, I have absolutely _nothing_ to show for years of work to get where I am. . ." She trailed off, her burst of energy fading fast. "If she had lived, if she hadn't been so determined to come to the big city and find herself," Helen's voice dripped with sarcasm, "where would I be today? My existence has been to avenge my sister, but maybe . . . I made the wrong choice . . .right along with my sister. And, just like her, I'm not sure how . . . or _if_ I can change it."

The first sob rose in her throat, and by the time the tears fell in earnest, Ray was beside her, his arms wrapped around her. Gratefully, she clung to him and muffled her sobs in his shirt as she shed her tears, letting him rock her back and forth almost like a child, whispering that everything was going to be OK.

No . . . it wasn't.

But, she liked hearing it, anyway, even if her cynical heart knew it was not true.

* * *

When her sobs finally abated, Ray liked to think he helped. But, he had this sneaking suspicion she would've cried her eyes out whether he was here or not.

As much as he hated tears, he was glad he was here as she clung to. As tough as she seemed when he first ran into her, she seemed so frail, it was a little discerning.

Life was like that.

"You d-did it again." Her breath was warm against his chest, which was now fairly wet, thanks to her tears.

"Did what?"

"Came to my rescue."

He chuckled. "Not often I get to do that."

She pulled away from him, brushing her hair away from her face, now swollen from crying. "Don't save too many damsels in distress, do you?"

He realized she was avoiding meeting his eyes. "That's more Peter's area."

She laughed aloud, one quick bark. "It would be, wouldn't it?"

He reached out and brushed an errant strand of hair stuck to her face, trying not to let his fingers linger longer than necessary. "And, I didn't exactly save you from anything. You did that yourself."

Her red-rimmed eyes finally met his. "Shitty job of it, didn't I?"

He smiled. "Life's like that sometimes."

She smiled at him, a rather wobbly one, but it still counted in his book, at least. "I guess if you hadn't of come along, I'd been stuck in that halfway house, crying into my pillow." She looked away. "I really do owe you an explanation. About what all went on back there."

"You don't owe me a thing." He itched to take her hand in his or have her back in his arms – crying or not. But, he also kept those thoughts to himself.

"Don't be so valiant all the damn time," she groused, sounding more like herself than she had since they picked her up. And, she started her tale. . .

"Katie called me the night before she went missing . . ."

* * *

"Found him."

Adjusting his glasses, Egon – still in pajamas – glanced over Winston's shoulder into the living area.

"Figures. We should've known, I suppose."

Winston crossed his arms and shook his head. "Too bad Peter isn't an early riser. He'd get a kick out of this. Some comment about 'well, at least they have their clothes on' or something like that."

Egon's mouth twitched in amusement at the accurate pronouncement. "As uncomfortable as they both look, I'm surprised they're sleeping as soundly as they are."

"I've slept on that couch. It does awful things to your back." He shook his head.

Sound asleep, Ray was slumped against the corner of the couch, one leg propped on the cushions next to a snoring Helen, the other on the scarred coffee table. By far, Helen looked more comfortable as she slept snuggled against Ray's side.

"Should we wake them?"

"Nah. Leave 'em alone. It's early yet, and her ride isn't supposed to be here for a few hours." Winston wandered towards the restroom. "Maybe today will be quieter than yesterday. I need a break."

With one last glance, Egon walked away, shaking his head. "I'm not going to take any pity on him when he complains about his back, either!"


	15. Ol' Hook and Ladder 8

Helen stoically listened to her captain yell at her for 15 minutes, saying things like, "What the hell were you thinking going after Gambini alone?" and "If I had known about what you thought happened to your sister, you would've gotten near this case with a 10-foot pole!" without even batting an eyelash. She even made it through the debriefing and the unanswered questions on how in the hell Rocco knew what was coming.

Helen fought that one. She and Ivan gave away no clues. She wouldn't have worked with him if that were the case.

God bless his soul.

A leak. It had to be. Those computers that all precincts were now using were apparently easily-hacked, even to a novice. And that just made everyone even angrier.

At least she wasn't wearing the clothes Ray found her last night. She had extra clothes in her locker at the station that she barely had enough time to throw on and make herself presentable.

She also made it through the questioning looks and comments everyone gave her about Ivan's death. Seeing his cluttered desk all covered with an inch of dust since their absence only made her stomach clench once. She'd even spoken with his mother over the phone, although Helen could barely make out what the other woman was saying.

His mother was always one for hysterics. Not that Helen could blame her, at this point. Her son _was_ dead, after all.

The funeral was in a week. His brother was somewhere overseas. Had to have time for him to get to the states.

She refused a leave of absence, although she was informed under no circumstance would she be allowed to return to this case. Hell, she wasn't even allowed to go back to her apartment without her rookie escort who looked to be about 13 damn years old until Rocco's whereabouts could be determined!

At least her superiors were still worried about her. At this point, she thought they might throw her to the wolves to fend for herself.

Even her apartment with its abandoned look to it didn't make her want to scream in frustration as much as she thought it would. Hell, at least she was allowed to stop by at the end of the day and pick up a few things.

However, the sight of her poor truck was about all she could stand.

"Maybe the battery's just dead?" Cole, her ever-present escort/shadow, asked helpfully.

Helen resisted the urge to punch him, wondering at the same time why something as simple as a dead vehicle could drive her over the edge. "It has four flat tires, Cole," she said through clenched teeth.

"Maybe you should call a wrecker or something."

"Wow. Must've aced the police academy test, didn't we?"

Cole either ignored the sarcasm or didn't even notice. "You want me to call one?"

She turned away from the pitiful sight of her abandoned truck in the apartment parking deck and towards the unmarked idling away nearby. "No, I'll deal with that later. Can't even drive the damn thing, anyway." Plus, she had approximately $43 in her checking account. Some cash socked away in her Roxie apartment, but she couldn't get to that just yet. Not until they assumed she was safe just because Rocco was out of the state. If she even wanted the money at this point.

Rocco had goons everywhere. Safe was a relative term at this point.

But, she'd worry about that later, too. Hell, why not? It worked for Scarlet O'Hara, didn't it?

* * *

When an officer was down during a raid, it meant tons of paperwork. When one was killed, the meetings and statements were off the charts.

It was after 9 p.m. before Cole dumped her off at ol' Hook & Ladder #8.

She was told an officer would be posted nearby in case trusty Gambini decided to make good on his threat. Helen figured it was to get a chance to catch Gambini rather than protect her, but she didn't argue. If she was at her own apartment, she probably would have. But, she had this fear that she might be putting Ray and his friends in danger.

That didn't sit well with her at all.

But, at this point, she did not have much of a choice, whether she liked it or not.

Janine was holding court at her desk when Helen stumbled inside lugging an overnight bag this time. Maybe having her own clothes would help. A little.

Janine looked up. "Oh. It's you," she said, more annoyed than anything.

Helen almost said something about leaving the door unlocked this late at night. However, Janine was surely a formidable gate keeper.

Maybe not so much for Gambini, though.

Plus, the bad guys they typically dealt with weren't affected by locked doors. They just drifted right through them.

"Yeah, it's me. Afraid I'm going to have to crash here one more night."

Janine waved her hand as she blew a rather large bubble with the gum she was smacking on. "The guys'll be back in a bit."

Sensing she was dismissed, Helen started for the stairs. But, a question surfaced she just had to know the answer to. "What hours do you work exactly?"

Janine looked up once again from the magazine she was perusing. Helen wondered if she would even answer her.

"Depends on how busy they are."

"Seems they'd hire someone else to help you out."

Janine seemed to like that comment. "Not too many people would deal with the crazy stuff that goes on."

Slimer drifted by, babbling to himself at that moment.

Helen figured Janine was right.

She started up the stairs again. "Just hope they pay you enough to make up for it."

"Not hardly."

That was the first time Helen smiled all day.

* * *

Helen stared at what Ray called the 'containment unit' in the basement in awe as it hummed and whirled. It was warmer in here, too, almost as if it were throwing off enough heat to keep the entire city warm.

"So . . . you're saying that all of the ghosts and whatever you catch are kept . . . in _here_?" She pointed.

"Sure," Ray replied. "It's actually the second one we had. The first one . . ."

"Was demolished by a ignorant prick from the EPA," Peter volunteered.

"You want to look inside?" Ray asked. He was always eager to introduce others to the joys of the occult. Rather they were ready or not.

Helen looked dubious. "I guess . . ."

He showed her what looked like a viewfinder attached to the unit. "Right here. Take a look."

Helen hesitantly took a peak. What she saw made her mouth drop open. "Holy . . . this is for real?"

"For real," Ray replied solemnly.

She stepped back. "It would be nice if we could have some way like this to keep up with all the criminals in the system – easier than building jails."

"But, not cheaper," Peter added. "This puppy uses more electricity in a week than most people use in a year."

"Hence, the EPA," Ray said.

After getting the 'grand tour,' from the proton packs to Ecto-1 and even the fire pole, all Helen could do was shake her head at this overload of information. "I'm beginning to think I got a good deal for my $5."

"That you did," Ray admitted with a nod.

"Huh?" Peter said, confused.

Ray laughed. "Every year, Helen used to pay me $5 to do her science fair project."

"I hated science," Helen groused. "And, my teachers were always suspicious. They knew I couldn't come up with some of that stuff."

"But, we never got caught."

"If you had come up with something like this," she motioned to the containment unit behind them, "we would've been caught red-handed."

"A lot of this was Egon's."

"Don't be so humble," Peter added as they walked up the stairs to the ground floor. "You and Egon both figured that one out."

"I take it _you're_ not the brains of the operation," Helen teased.

"Oh, _hell_ no! Beauty, maybe, but not the brains."

"You've gotten us out of several jams, though, Peter," Ray said shutting the basement door behind them.

"You got that right," Peter winked at her.

Helen had to grin. "I would have argued with you about the dangerous aspect of your job until that night in the club."

"Ghosts themselves can't hurt you," Ray started.

"But what they throw at you can." Peter finished.

"I'd much rather fight someone I can shoot," Helen admitted. That comment made her think of Ivan, and the thoughts of how her world had unraveled so quickly threatened to sneak up on her again. She'd actually hadn't thought about it for what? A half-hour now?

Helen figured she'd live with that burden for the rest of her life. Just like Katie.

Ray put his hand gently on her arm, startling her. "When's the funeral?"

How did he do that? Was she really that readable?

She kept her voice low. Peter had gone downstairs, but for some reason, she wanted to keep this private.

"A week. His brother's stationed in Korea with the Navy. They got to get him back."

"They burying him here?"

"In Queens. His family's from there." She swallowed hard, fighting tears. _Dammit, I thought I was done with this!_

But, in the privacy of the dark stairwell, it was easy to tear up.

She shook it off, along with Ray's hand. This compassion business was driving her into some sort of neurotic crybaby. "We should know something about Gambini in a day or so. Then, I'll be out of your hair."

"You're welcome here as long as you need to." Ray jammed his hands into the pockets of his uniform. "Just sorry all we have is the couch."

"I've slept in worse places," Helen admitted. "I just don't like having the freedom to come and go as I please. Drives me batty."

"We saw the police cruiser on the way in." Neither one of them paid any attention to the distant ringing of a phone.  
Helen rolled her eyes. "That obvious, huh?"

"Well, this part of town isn't exactly known for its police presence." Ray didn't want to admit that he didn't want her to leave. Sure, he knew it was going to happen, but he liked having her here. He tried to tell himself it was just so they could catch up.

But, he was afraid that wasn't quite the entire reason.

Helen crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, frowning. "The sooner I can get home, the faster I can get the dust cleaned up in my apartment. Who knew that much dust could accumulate in a month?" She didn't add she wasn't the world's best housekeeper. But, Ray didn't have to know that. "And, my truck needs a good mechanic if I'm going to drive it again anytime soon."

Ray perked up. "What kind of truck?"

She didn't notice his increased interest. "'72 International. When I moved here, one of the retired cops sold it to me for $500. It runs fine, as long as it's driven on occasion. Which I have _not_ been doing. For obvious reasons."

Before he could reply, an alarm sounded so loudly, Helen almost wanted to put her hands over her ears.

Ray was instantly in motion.

And, so was everyone else.

Helen watched from the landing as the others converged around Janine's desk, gathering gear and supplies. Just like children, they practically raced to Janine to see who would be the first one to get the address of the next job.

Peter won. Somehow, Helen wasn't surprised.

She stayed put until the car blew out the double doors, sirens wailing.

"They're just like a bunch of kids, aren't they?" Janine's voice carried from her desk downstairs.

Helen poked her head over the railing. "Funny. I was just thinking the same thing. And wondering if I needed to find a job I was that excited about."

Janine snorted as she gathered up her purse.

Helen had figured out enough about this place to know the other woman was lying through her teeth. She loved this job, rather she'd admit it or not.

And, if the 'Janine Loves Egon' screensaver had anything to say about it, she loved her job for more than one reason.

"I'll lock the door behind me. Have a good one," she called over her shoulder as she sashayed out the door.

"Bye," Helen called out as the door clicked shut. When the echo died away in the cavernous room, there was nothing but silence.

She was alone.

Funny, that's all she'd wanted to be in a few days, but now, it was highly unsatisfying. And a little creepy, especially knowing that all those ghosts were downstairs, one power outage away from keeping her company.

A loud crash from the kitchen made her jump.

Oh, yeah. Don't forgot the One That was Allowed to Roam Free.

Slimer came drifting through with some sort of banana split on a tray. He held it out for her.

"Uh . . . no thanks."

The little green guy looked so crestfallen, she immediately backtracked. "I'll . . . go make my own."

He brightened and tossed it down in one gulp.

"Wow. No ice cream headache?"

"Nuh-uh."

"I'm jealous."

Slimer giggled as he floated away.

_I wonder what the other cops would think if they saw me now. _

For the first time, Helen didn't find it all that strange.

Funny what you get used to, isn't it?

After helping herself to her own smaller version of Slimer's banana split, she settled in front of the television. However, her eyes grew heavy before she could even finish half of it.

I'll just lay my head down right here for a few moments . . .

She was out like a light.

She didn't notice Slimer gulping down her melting ice cream. Or even hear Ecto-1 purr back into its spot downstairs.

Not to mention Ray coming in, turning off the television and covering her up with the blanket at the foot of the couch.

* * *

Ray couldn't help but watch her for a moment as she slept. He settled on a chair nearby with a groan and put his chin in his hand.

If Peter were in here, he'd say it was a protective instinct that made her sleep curled up to avoid any more harm.

And, if Helen were awake, she'd tell Peter he was full of shit.

Ray couldn't help but smile.

But, Peter would probably be right.

The smile faded.

"You do know if you sleep on that couch again, you'll have to see a chiropractor for the next six months?" Winston offered from the doorway. He'd already showered, while Ray was still wearing his uniform.

The problem with only having one shower and four men.

Ray winced as he stood. "She needed it last night."

"Needed it or needed you?"

Ray turned around to look at her snoring softly as he walked out of the room. "I just happened to be here, I guess."

Winston started to argue, but thought better of it.

After all, dealing with Janine and Egon was bad enough.

"Listen, Winston, do you still have that number for the tow service we used last time we wrecked Jeanine's car?"

By now, Winston was accustomed to Ray's change of subjects. "Yeah?"

"I have an idea . . ."


	16. Greed, Lust and General Deviance

Helen figured Cole was just as glad to be rid of her as she was of him.

Another day of endless, mindless meetings had one semi-bright spot: her superiors had found out – with some digging by all the underlings on the force, of course – that Gambini's Cessna had left JFK a few hours after all hell broke loose at his club. It landed in Jamaica a few hours later, several people de-boarding and promptly losing themselves in the summer vacation scene.

It made sense that Gambini would have been on it, although only a partial-matching description could be gained from some half-asleep employee at the airport that night. After all, no scrap of evidence remained that he was anywhere near New York City. Why would he stay? Generally, when the heat was turned up, the bosses left town until things smoothed out.

So, she was free to return to her apartment, sans guard.

As relieved as she was to be able to come and go as she pleased, she couldn't help but wonder if Gambini was _really_ gone. Her brief glimpse into his world showed her more than once just how devious the man really was.

He had threatened her life. She had a right to be nervous.

Well, she wasn't _really_ nervous for her own health's sake. Anxiously anticipating crossing paths with that man, again, but certainly not dreading it. He wouldn't get away the next time.

Not only did she have her sister to avenge – now, she had her partner.

_Helen the Avenger. Yep. That's me, alright._

However, the slow burn in her soul didn't seem quite as bright as it once had. Perhaps, it was her conscience's way of telling her that the toll was already too high. She needed to back off. After all, those who lived like Gambini often did not live to life expectancy; greed, lust and general deviance of those they surrounded themselves often took care of that.

But, she still wanted to make the man sweat.

Her new partner would be glad to note that she no longer held any secrets from the police department she vowed to faithfully serve several years ago. Actually, her new partner – Clancy Dewitt - was so close to retirement, he probably didn't care what she did as long as she did all the manual work – chasing crooks, arguing with perps and the like.

She knew it was a form of punishment to be demoted back to the streets. Not that she cared – now that her face was plastered all over the evening news, she couldn't have gone back undercover, anyway.

In her lighter moments, she couldn't help but wonder what sort of punishment ol' Clancy deserved to be stuck with her.

Helen walked purposefully along the sidewalk still warm from the heat of the day. Since she wouldn't have to go on patrol until tomorrow and return to the regular police uniform, she was still wearing what she'd always worn when she wasn't undercover – khakis and a white shirt, usually with some sort of cotton, long-sleeve blouse over it. She liked it. It was comfortable, and her gun and badge were still visible when she wanted them to be, but hidden by the shirt when she didn't. Now that she was back on the streets, the comfortable attire had to go.

Thinking about clothes kept her from dwelling on her destination.

Strange that she wouldn't go straight back to her long-neglected apartment the first chance she got. Instead, she found herself walking the several blocks to the firehouse.

Of course, she had to get her few things she'd left there. And tell them she'd gained her freedom. Thank them.

And maybe, just maybe, she wasn't quite ready to be alone just yet. They all enjoyed such an easy camaraderie, and even though she wasn't exactly included in it, just being among them helped soothe her battle-scarred soul. That was how her superiors labeled her, at least. Battle-scarred. And the shrinks they were making her see.

She hated shrinks. She must have been scowling because a bag lady begging on the sidewalk took one look at her face and didn't even bother to ask.

God, it was hard to believe Ray hadn't changed much over the years. Out of all of the people she could remember from her hometown – most she hadn't thought about in years – she would have thought the harsh realities of the world would have stunted his sheer enthusiasm for life. At least a little.

Granted, her sheltered upbringing didn't prepare her for the realities, but even a harsher world would never have steeled her for it, either.

And, Ray's upbringing was just a tad more brutal than her own – at least after his parents were killed. She hadn't even realized it until their high school years. Some of his foster parents, people who were labeled pillars of the community, treated him as little more than cheap slave labor.

And, still, his easy disposition won out in the end.

It was admirable. No way she could tell him that without feeling like an idiot, but it was.

And, his enthusiastically reckless behavior still galled her to the core. From facing off with Gambini to get her off stage to inviting her into his life and his home at the danger and expense of his and his friends' lives, he still didn't quite understand that actions had consequences, and some of them weren't very nice.

With the firehouse now in sight, her pace slowed, a small smile on her face, no sign of the scowl that had been almost a permanent fixture. Reckless. Loyal, but reckless.

She'd always liked Ray. Never judgmental, always honest, never complained once about the hand life had dealt him.

He had just caught her off guard, managed to find a chink in her armor that she didn't even know was there. Hell, if a kind word and touch could make her cry like a baby, what kind of tough-ass cop would she be?

Now, she would get on with her life. _If I make it through Ivan's funeral first_.

Somehow, it just seemed bleaker than it had before. Maybe, she'd never realized it in her headlong search to catch Gambini.

Hell, did that even mean she differed _that_ much from Ray, one-track minded and all?

Except, her purpose wasn't exactly the kind that was encouraged in fortune cookies and self-help books.

And, just why in the hell was she standing on the sidewalk, one hand on the doorknob, wishing she didn't have to go back to her lonely apartment?

_Get a grip, Stephenson._

Shaking her head at her own stupidity, Helen yanked open the door with more force than necessary.

And found herself staring at her own truck wedged inside next to Ecto-1.


	17. The Good Samaritan Business

Ray was lying on his back in the floorboard, his legs hanging out the driver door muttering to himself as he sorted through various wires. He didn't even know she was there until she spoke.

"You stole my truck."

Her tone was more incredulous than angry.

Ray jumped, his head narrowly missing the dash. Craning his neck, he peered out from underneath.

"Oh, hi!" he said brightly. "Surprise!"

She smiled at him with forced patience, a look he was accustomed to getting from most anyone around him. "What kind of surprise are we talking about here?"

Ray abandoned the wires that now resembled spaghetti and crawled out from underneath the seat, wiping his hands on an equally-greasy rag. "All it needed was a new battery and some air in the tires. I found a nail in the back passenger one, but plugged it. Then, I tuned it up a bit. Changed the oil, too, and drained the radiator. Good as new!"

"He's good at keeping cars running. Especially after he wrecks them," Janine called out from her desk.

At first, he thought Helen might be angry, judging by the expression on her face and her silence.

_Uh, oh, Winston told me to butt out. But, I didn't listen . . ._

* * *

Helen was speechless for a moment. She stood back and looked. Yup. Four fully-inflated tires. Then, she walked around to look underneath the hood, which was still open.

There it was. A brand-new battery looking suspiciously out-of-place from the rest of the dusty innards.

She cleared her throat. "You stole my truck . . . so you could fix it?"

He ambled up next to her and shrugged almost as if he did something like this everyday. "Well, sure. I thought it might help to have someone look at it who you could trust. I know how it is sometimes." He winked at her. "And, how pretty ladies such as yourself can get taken advantage of by some unscrupulous shade-tree mechanic."

"It's been a while since I've had anything done to it at all," she said honestly, still a little dazed, peering underneath the hood to hide it.

"I could tell," he said dryly.

She looked up and shot him a look, but then smiled. "I have to admit, this is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in awhile. Or, at least since last week."

"What happened last week?"

"You bribed Gambini into getting me off that damn stage."

* * *

Her smile faded. The mention of her former boss, Ray was certain.

Ray realized right then he would've moved heaven and earth to return that smile to her lips. Although she was obviously wearing a gun, with her hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail and the oversized shirt, she still looked too young for any of it. Not like a tough cop who'd seen more violence than most people see in a lifetime.

She shook her head once, probably to get rid of whatever images were haunting her and returned to peering underneath the hood. "I've got to pay you for this, Ray. I know this wasn't cheap and even your effort . . ."

He put his hand on her arm to cut her off gently. "Don't worry about it. I get all that stuff wholesale from a guy I know."

"But . . ."

He held up his hands. "It's a gift."

She shook her head and studied him for a moment. "I've already said this once, Ray, but you never cease to amaze me. In less than a week, you've done more for me than some folks have done in a lifetime. And, all I've done is annoyed your secretary." She motioned towards Janine, hidden from view by the open hood.

Ray knew that pissed Janine off, too. She was dying to know what they were saying.

But, Helen really shocked the hell out of him when she threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight. After a moment of standing stock-still, it was all he could do to remember to put his arms around her and return the embrace.

"Thank you, Ray."

"Errr . . . you're welcome," he replied, more uneasily than he would've liked. _Dammit, he shouldn't have been uneasy! It's not like he'd never hugged a woman before. Sure, he didn't fall into bed with all of them like Peter, but at least . . ._

He was a little disappointed when she started to pull away, interrupting his nervous thoughts. He turned his head towards her to say something – anything! – to keep her from thinking he was an idiot, not realizing she had leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

Instead, she got him right on the lips.

Her eyes widened, probably mirroring his, and they jumped apart like someone had caught them in the act of something more provocative.

"I'm so sorry . . ."

"No, that was my fault. . ."

Both of their words faded away as they stared at each other, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

But, embarrassment wasn't exactly what he was feeling. How could he feel ashamed after that kiss, accidental though it may have been?

Apparently, he wasn't the only one who thought that way.

About the time he reached for her, she launched herself back into his arms, her lips finding his.

Tongues intertwined, probing, searching, almost desperately. Her hands were in his hair, and he felt her touch right town to his toes. It gave electrifying a whole new meaning, that's for damn sure!

For a brief moment, he caught a flash of a memory – her on that stage in nothing but a thong.

Apparently, he was paying more attention that night than he thought.

And, here she was. Right here! He could feel every last curve – curves she obviously kept hidden in those everyday clothes she wore – against him. Even her service weapon in a holster on her back turned him on. And, she smelt fabulous. Like peppermint. And, oh my God, what was she doing with her tongue?

He wasn't sure if it were his heart or hers hammering so loudly, but with his senses going into overload, he sure didn't want this to end.

But, like all good things . . .

"A-hem . . ."

They flew apart, both clearly flustered at being caught.

Ray had never been so disappointed in his life.

And, if he could just catch his breath, he'd kill Peter Venkman.

Peter was grinning ear-to-ear just feet away, leaning on the bumper of Helen's truck. "Wow, Ray! If I knew the good Samaritan business paid like that, I'd have taken it up long ago!"

"Jesus, Peter . . ." Ray managed, resisting the urge to lean on the truck himself until his knees stopped shaking. When was the last time a woman had done that to him, anyway?

"See? I _told_ you they were up to something!" Janine's voice echoed in the cavernous room.

He risked a glance at Helen. She looked just as flustered as he did. And, she was looking anywhere but at him as she hurriedly ran her fingers through her hair and straightened her clothes.

Man, how did they get rumpled so quickly?

"So, kids? Big plans tonight? You know, Winston, Egon and I might could give you some alone time . . ."

"I'm going back to my apartment tonight," Helen blurted out. Some of the color had faded from her cheeks, and she had apparently found her voice first.

"Not that good, eh? I would've guessed otherwise." Peter was clearly enjoying himself. He snapped his fingers. "I know! Ray's going with you!"

She shot him a dirty look.

All Peter did was grin even broader.

"Why?" Ray blurted out. It was all the words he could manage to string together right now.

She crossed her arms over her chest, more in a protective gesture than anything. "Gambini's plane has been tracked to Jamaica. I'm in the clear." She still wouldn't look at him. "I just stopped by to get my stuff and tell you. All of you."

His senses beginning to return, he saw her stance for what it was. "You don't believe that, do you? That Gambini's really gone?"

She shrugged. "I guess I have to trust my sources."

Ray didn't like that one bit. "If you still think you're in danger . . ."

"Oh, you would _love_ for her to keep on staying here, wouldn't you . . ."

"_Shut up!_" Ray and Helen said in unison.

Peter held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry . . ." But, he didn't budge. He was enjoying this _way_ too much to leave now.

Helen's eyes finally met his. He would've used a lot of words to describe Helen, but vulnerable was not one of them. And, she struggled to look anything but that.

But, as he watched, she obviously manhandled her feelings and shoved them aside.

"It's _my_ problem. Besides, what can all of you do? He's a dangerous man."

"Slimer could scare the pants off him, I suppose," Peter offered.

"For the love of God, would you _butt out_?" Helen said, clearly annoyed.

"Fine, fine . . . but promise me if I leave, you'll behave?"

Helen shot him a bird, and his laughter echoed across the first floor.

They were alone again. At least, as alone as you could get around here.

Ray broke the silence. "I don't blame you. Peter means well, but . . ." He shrugged.

"I know. He's a pain in the ass."

They both chuckled, easing the tension a bit more.

"I guess . . ."

"You don't think . . ."

They both laughed nervously as they tried to speak at the same time.

Ray motioned. "You first."

She took a deep breath. "I need to do something to thank you for all this . . ."

"Go out to dinner with me." It was the first thing he thought of, and as usual, he blurted it out without thinking.

"That doesn't exactly count, Ray, if you pay for it."

"Oh . . . right." He ran his hands through his hair nervously.

"You gonna ask me to pay?" Her eyes danced, all thoughts of Gambini temporarily forgotten, and Ray thought he would melt on the spot.

Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.

"No . . . unless you want to . . . I mean, _no_, you're not going to pay! It's just that . . ."

The alarm made them both jump.

Ray reached up and slammed the hood of her truck before he raced off. She was clearly forgotten. Which she didn't mind. It had gotten too awkward for her tastes.

Helen shook her head as she watched all of them scramble as the alarm wailed and walked to the door of her truck, which was still hanging open. She looked at her watch.

She hadn't even been there 10 minutes.

A lot can happen in 10 minutes. Good or bad.

Plus, her heart still hadn't slowed down. She didn't know what they were thinking. What _she_ was thinking! But, after she accidentally kissed him, it was like something had lit a fire in her. It was not what she was expecting. At all.

Apparently, Ray wasn't expecting it, either, judging from his reaction.

She reached in the pocket of her slacks for her keys and grinned. Nice to know she wasn't the only one left flummoxed by the entire exchange.

* * *

Ray was the last one to the car, carting the extra traps he had been working on earlier before he started tinkering on Helen's truck.

He caught a glimpse of her through her dirty windshield, smiling and shaking her head to herself.

Without thinking about it – best not to, or he'd second guess himself – he tossed the traps in the car and veered in her direction.

Two could play at this game.

* * *

She wasn't sure where he came from, but she was glad he'd come back.

This time, it was her turn to be caught off her guard.

It was a quick kiss, but it left her just as breathless as before.

And, even more embarrassed. This time, they had a larger audience that did not hesitate to whistle and catcall.

Ray grinned at her and winked. "I'll call you."

And, then he was gone, leaving her standing stupidly by her truck.

* * *

Ray climbed in the backseat with Egon who was watching him with something akin to amusement. At least by Egon standards.

Winston shook his head from the driver's seat. "You're a regular Romeo, you know that, Ray?"

"I know. Now, step on it."

Winston obliged and tore out of the firehouse.

"I taught him everything he knows," Peter had to add.

* * *

Helen should have known there was a problem when her truck didn't even turn over when she turned the key. No click. Nothing.

"What the . . ." She stared a moment at the steering wheel and brushed at something tickling her leg.

Wait a sec . . . She leaned over and took a peek.

"He hotwired it," she sighed. "Dammit."

Somehow, she couldn't muster enough anger at him. Not if he were going to fix her truck. And kiss her like that. Twice.

Wriggling underneath the dash, she rummaged around until she found the correct wires. Luckily, he'd left a roll of black electrical tape. And, she'd worked on the streets long enough to know how this worked.

"There," she said more to herself than anything as she wrapped the last of the tape around the cut wires.

Wriggling out, she found herself face-to-face with Janine.

And Janine did not look happy. Arms crossed, toe tapping impatiently, she chewed on her gum like it was the last piece she'd ever have as Slimer hovered at her shoulder.

Finally, Janine decided what she would say. "You hurt him, and you'll wish you'd never been born." With that statement, she whirled on her heel and stormed away.

Helen glanced at Slimer who shrugged and floated away.

_I don't plan on hurting anybody_.

She probably should retort with some sort of comeback, but her brain still wasn't firing on all cylinders at this point.

Plus, she hadn't thought about this longer than the kiss itself. Was that where she and Ray were headed? Down _that_ road?

Why did that _not_ bother her – the girl who ran from a commented relationship the first chance she got? All it did was get in the way of her goals – kill Gambini.

But, that had been taken from her.

Just why in the hell did she kiss him to begin with? Sure, she liked it, but . . .

_Ivan would've loved this._

_Ivan . . ._

It all came crashing back, and she flopped in the seat of her truck, slamming the door.

She still had to make it through his funeral. And get her revenge.

No time for dallying. No matter how much it appealed to her right now.

Maybe that's it. She'd get over it. He'd caught her off guard.

Hell, he said he'd call her. To the best of her knowledge, he didn't even _have_ her number.

She put her foot on the clutch and jabbed the key in the ignition. It turned over effortlessly, but she was too annoyed at herself – maybe even a little sad – to notice that the truck purred like a kitten. It hadn't run that well the entire time she owned it.

She got halfway back to her apartment before she realized she'd left all her things at the firehouse.


	18. Counting Cards

The funeral was two days away. Helen dreaded it with every fiber of her being. Police funerals were always the worst, especially when the officer died while on duty. Way too much emotion.

Like she needed more of that.

The first days with her new partner was to be expected. Clancy didn't like her, probably thought women shouldn't even be allowed on the force. She found herself stuck with all the reports at the end of the day. Probably thought that was women's work too – secretary stuff.

_Oh, Janine would love that._

Helen shook her head and returned to the pile of files. She had made herself not think of Ray and his friends at all. She'd stumbled into a situation that she wasn't sure she needed to be in.

_Liked_ to be in, sure. But _needed_? No.

It was difficult. He had taken her in, helped her when she needed him.

Hell, he'd even hotwired her truck, so he could change the damn oil!

Plus, he hadn't called. Not that she'd waited by the phone or anything. Or checked her answering machine. Surely, he had the capability of finding her phone number. He did research on dead things for a living, for goodness sakes!

_Watch it, hon. You're thinking about him again._

Helen tossed her pen down. She'd finish the damn paperwork later. Maybe shove it on Clancy tomorrow.

That would really piss the old man off.

In fact, she wasn't going to stay here a moment longer. Not even taking time to change, she grabbed her hat, plunked it on her head and headed towards the door.

Where Ray was waiting for her at the bottom of the street, Ecto-1 parked illegally right in front of the door.

Helen resisted the urge to grin like an idiot and hated that her heart sped up just a notch. Instead, she tried her best to put a neutral expression on her face. It was difficult to do when he lit up when he saw her.

"You know, I could have you ticketed for parking illegally."

Ray reached in the car and opened the glove box. A pile of parking tickets billowed out. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"You didn't call." The ends of her mouth twitched in amusement at his stricken expression.

"I didn't have your number. Besides, you could've called me."

She smiled. "Defiance doesn't suit you, Ray. And, I don't think Janine would have taken any of my messages."

"Oh, she's the one that reminded me of your bag." He reached in the front seat and handed her the gym tote she'd crammed her few things into that she'd taken to the firehouse.

Helen took it from him. "Probably wanted to make sure I wasn't going to come back."

"She might've wanted to give me a reason to see you again," his eyes twinkled with merriment. "You know, since I didn't have your number and all."

Helen laughed aloud, the funk from her day lifting like a fog dissipating in the sunlight. "And we practically made out in front of her desk."

He actually blushed, amusing her even more, shuffling his foot against the concrete and shoving his hands in his uniform pocket. "Yeah, that, too," he mumbled.

An uncomfortable moment passed. Helen tried not to scowl. And be pissed – with herself, with him, with the whole entire situation. What were they? Fifteen years old?

The smell of melting cheese from a one-man pizza joint popular with her station across the street wafted by them. Her stomach broke the silence, growling. When was the last time she ate, anyway? Must've been breakfast. A bagel of questionable age that was left in the grungy station kitchen.

"Are you done for the day?"

"Yeah." Her answer was more terse than necessary, but she wasn't accustomed to feeling so out of her element.

"Ever eaten there?" He motioned towards the restaurant, which was beginning to get crowded with dinnertime traffic.

She softened just a bit. And hated herself for it. "Enough to know you better eat your Tums first." She better be nice. He was asking her to dinner. She thought.

"I'd ask you to eat supper with me, but I've got to get back." He even looked a little crestfallen at the thought.

She hoped she didn't look as disappointed as she felt. "Oh."

"It's Winston's night off."

She blinked. "You have nights off?"

"Well, yeah." He looked surprised that she'd even ask. "Don't you?"

"Hell, for awhile, I thought Janine practically lived there," she joked.

"She would if she thought Egon would notice."

"Bless his heart, the man is the most oblivious creature I've ever seen."

"That's our Egon."

Helen took a deep breath and held it. She had an idea. While she was being such an idiot, she might as well go all the way with it. "How 'bout I pick up a few of those pizzas, and we can eat at the firehouse?" A pause. "That is . . . if you want to."

Ray brightened. "Sounds good!"

_At least he didn't come up with an excuse to get out of it._

_And, what am I? A hormonal teenager?_

While she argued with herself, Ray had already started across the busy road. He stopped and turned to look at her. "You coming?"

Helen jogged to catch up. "You're not going to let me pay, are you?"

He grinned. "Not on your life."

* * *

"So, then, the balloon crashes into some trees, leaving us stranded. The mayor had to get the fire department over to get us out."

Helen giggled, her terrible poker hand temporarily forgotten. "I cannot _believe_ my mom did not tell me this story!"

"She had to have been out of town that day. It was the highlight of town history. Ray Stantz, hometown hero," Peter said, munching on a pretzel.

"I bet Charlie Sneed had a fit," Helen said, taking a swig of her already-warm beer and tossing some chips into the pot. "Call."

"Didn't see a Charlie Sneed. But there was this Elaine chick . . ." Janine started.

Ray blushed.

Janine tossed her cards aside. She watched Helen to gauge her reaction.

Egon, who had the largest pile of chips among them, was also interested in the proceedings.

"I remember Elaine. Cute little blonde. Kinda shy." Helen said offhandedly, not noticing anyone's reaction. "Everyone in?"

Peter wasn't going to let it go that easily. "Didn't she give you a big ol' smooch on the lips, Ray? In front of everyone?"

"She always did have a thing for you," Helen added, finally noticing how uncomfortable Ray was with the situation. She leaned back in her chair. "And what's with all the scrutiny?" She motioned for Egon to show his cards.

"You're supposed to be jealous, I believe," Egon said. He laid his hand down. A royal flush.

Helen cursed and tossed her cards aside. Facedown. No need to embarrass herself with her measly pair of twos. "I think you're counting cards, Dr. Spengler."

"It's not illegal in the state of New York," Egon said innocently, gathering the pot and neatly stacking the chips.

Ray didn't care that he was losing. At least they were off the Elaine subject. "I should've warned you. We usually only play poker when Egon isn't here."

Absently, Helen tossed a pizza crust in the air, and Slimer swooped down from the ceiling and caught it. "At least it's not for money. I'd be in trouble."

"Even with your Roxie money?" Peter asked.

Helen stretched, finding she was not annoyed at Venkman bringing up her sidetrip into the underworld of New York. "Stripping isn't that profitable. Especially when a girl doesn't give out other favors."

"You hear that, Ray? Too late for you," Peter grinned mischievously.

Helen rolled her eyes while Ray blushed again.

"Doctor V, you really are a sorry excuse for a human being, you know that?" Janine said, sending Peter the evil eye.

"Aww, you'd miss me if I were gone," Peter tried to look hang-dogged, but failed.

"If we were only so lucky . . ." Janine muttered.

Helen had figured out by now that Janine's bark was way worse than her bite. And she even cared about Peter, as much as she sassed him. Maybe not as much as Dr. Spengler here, but still . . .

She looked at her watch. "Holy crap! I gotta go." She stood and stretched, amusedly watching Slimer devour the rest of the cold pizza. "I take it leftovers are not a common occurrence around here, huh?"

"I'm surprised he let it sit there this long," Ray wondered aloud.

"Well, you were trying to teach him manners," Janine mentioned offhandedly, gathering all the chips into a pile.

"Only you would try to teach manners to a green slimeball, Ray," Helen teased.

"We've never played poker with a woman in a cop uniform before," Peter said, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the scarred table. "Probably scared him into submission."

"Didn't help my playing any," Helen groused.

"Spengs here would be rich. Hell,_ I'd_ be rich. Take him to Vegas and win a trunkload," Peter added.

"Counting cards is illegal in Vegas," Egon added.

"So, you've thought about it, huh?" Peter said, putting both feet on the floor with a thump.

"Well, if you can think of it, I certainly could," Egon deadpanned.

"Damn straight," Janine said with a nod of her head.

"They'll go at it all night," Ray whispered.

Helen headed for the stairs. "I figured as much. That man thrives on verbal sparring."

Ray followed. "Which one?"

"Does it matter?"

"Nope. Not really."

Her truck was parked on the street. The night air was balmy; the humidity had definitely risen over the last few nights.

Great. Hot temperatures meant hot tempers. She'd be busy over the next couple of days.

"I still owe you dinner," Ray interrupted her thoughts as they strolled to her waiting truck.

"This doesn't count?"

"Oh, sure." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Slimer hovering overhead waiting for a chance to dive in, Peter and Janine fighting, Egon tinkering with the PKE meter . . ."

Helen got into the act. "Peter mentioning your old girlfriends, Peter making mildly obscene jokes about us . . ."

Ray smiled sheepishly. "Well, there's that, too."

Helen leaned on her truck, ignoring the dirt she'd be getting on her uniform. "As much as he seems to live to embarrass you, I have finally realized he is about as loyal as the rest of you. Sarcastic comments aside."

"I told you he wasn't a bad guy."

"Just has an active imagination. But, judging by the stories you have told, anyone who does what you do for a living has seen just about everything there is to see. Makes my job look tame."

"I don't know about that . . ."

Helen knew she usually would have been annoyed at anyone who seemed to worry about her. But, this was different? Right?

"I'll have to tell you some of my war stories some day. They really do look tame compared to the ones I heard tonight." _Except for maybe the night Ivan was killed . . .dammit, why did those thoughts sneak up on me like this?_

As he had proven he could do, Ray seemed to sense her dark mood. "Listen. My day off is the day after tomorrow." Or, at least it would be once he talked to Peter. He owed him plenty. "Let me take you out to dinner after the funeral."

"I . . ." Helen paused and sighed. "Maybe later, OK?"

Ray looked so crestfallen, she felt guilty. But, not enough to change her mind. However, she knew she owed him an explanation. "I'll be dealing with enough . . . demons that day to fill your containment unit. It might be best if I . . . if I dealt with them on my own." She reached out and took his hand, not really sure why she did it. But, she didn't want him to think she was flaking out on him. That wasn't her style. "But, I'll take a rain check, OK?"

He brightened, but only a little, as he absently rubbed her fingers with his thumb. "It's a date."

Helen leaned up and kissed him lightly on the lips. Nothing too fancy. Her heart wasn't in it. "See you later, stud."

Judging by the goofy look on his face, he didn't seem to mind either way.


	19. Passed the Test

"So, Stephenson? Heard you've gone over to the dark side on us."

Helen didn't even look up from her paperwork. A perp robbing a gas station. Another cruiser joined her and her new partner, and she'd help take the guy down. Much to the relief of the owner and customers inside.

"Excuse me?" she said disinterestedly and kept writing, tucking a strand of stray hair behind her ear. And the paperwork was stacked to heaven. Especially when the guy was a little banged up when he was marched to jail.

Helen couldn't deny Clancy a few cheap shots. It wasn't like she hadn't had those same thoughts before. And, the guy was hiding behind a pregnant teenager who had just wanted a candy bar before one of the other officers talked him away from her. . .

"Heard you've been hanging out with those Ghostbuster fellas."

Her attention snapped back to the conversation at hand. She didn't even look up at the guy –Manfred. And his partner Frank Lebowitz had to be close by. Two of the most testosterone-inflated guys she'd ever disdained. Sure, Ivan was like that, but he wasn't generally crude, crass and racist, either. She had a rather congenial respect for the rest on the force, but these two guys could step in front of a bus anytime.

"Didn't know my personal life was any of your business." She kept right on writing, her voice calm and even.

"Thought maybe you might be trying to conjure up some long lost relative," Manfred commented.

"Or maybe use a Ouiji board on the side," Lebowitz added. His Brooklyn accent rivaled Janine's. "Could be kinky, you know."

"Yeah, I heard the one you've been cozy with – what's his name, Stantz? He tends to lean more towards that kinda stuff."

They kept talking just like she wasn't there, although she knew all they wanted was for her to snap at them.

Helen was gripping her pen so tightly, she thought it might snap in two. Which would be a good thing because she could use it to stab both of them in the heart.

Hostile much?

And just how could they rile her so fast by talking about Ray?

As calmly as she could, she stood up and shut her file, tucking it underneath her arm. "Seems to me if you were getting cozy with your own wives, you wouldn't be worrying about my love life. Jealous, perhaps? Or is it that little-dick syndrome that keeps pestering you?" she tried to smile demurely, but knew it looked more like a sneer.

Sexism could run two ways. And Lord knows she'd seen enough of it pointed at her. But, police work was a man's world and always had been. It was her cross to bear.

The glint in her eye made Manfred back off, but Lebowitz smelled blood. Especially after she insulted his manhood. And, he really did have a little dick. One of the other women on the force had made the mistake of sleeping with him and told that story quite often when they all got together and got drunk.

"Seems to me they could get a real job."

Helen wanted to slug that sneer right off his face. And maybe his greasy little mustache with it. Honestly, she might've said the same thing if she hadn't of witnessed that little escapade at The Rising Sun. And seen whatever-the-hell that was in their basement. And Slimer. Don't forget Slimer.

But, she didn't want to argue with this cretin, either. Especially now that they had garnered a small audience, the normal buzz and hum of the station quiet in their little corner.

"If you have a problem with them, take it up with them. Otherwise, mind your own damn business." She narrowed her eyes at them as they crowded her desk. "Excuse me." She tried to sweep past them, but Lebowitz wouldn't move.

He leaned down until his onion-tainted breath was just inches from her face. It was all she could do not to back up to get away from it. "You are the iciest bitch I've seen in a long time, you know, Stephenson?"

She held her ground. "I have better taste than to spread my legs for you."

"Seems to me you need to get laid. In a bad way."

"Seems to me like you offer up your opinions when no one asked for them."

"Ivan must've pounded you regularly. Pity you'd go off the force to find someone to take up where he left off." His thinly-veiled innuendo hung in the air like the stench from three-day old road kill on a summer's day.

Just mentioning her dead partner like that – a big no-no – was enough to bring her rage to full force.

Manfred, who'd been watching the exchange with amusement, was suddenly worried. Before Helen could form a fist, he grabbed his partner's arm. "C'mon, Freddy. Let's get outta here. Go have a few drinks."

"Yeah, Freddy," Helen mocked. She was too angry to care who saw or heard at this point. "Go find you a bimbo who you can slap around instead of your wife for tonight. Give her a night off." It was no secret he was a wife beater. Helen had no patience for that, especially when the man was supposed to protect the population from just those exact sort of things.

She didn't wait for Lebowitz to reply, just swept past them and out the door, tossing the file in her superior's box for the next day.

Rumors ran rampant on the force. So did sexism and crudeness. She'd learned to accept it all for what it was. After all, she was a woman in a man's world.

But, that pig had just insulted her friends _and_ her dead partner.

And, she knew there was nothing she could do about it, short of slashing his tires. Pity. You give a man a badge, and he thinks his shit doesn't stink.

And her one avenue of escape, namely whatever it was that she had with Ray, had been ran through the mud. It made her feel . . . filthy. But, then again, Lebowitz could turn anything that was snow white clean into a filthy mess just by breathing on it.

She was back at her apartment before her heart rate returned to normal.

* * *

Helen had forgotten Ivan was in the military. The three volleys the seven Marines in their dress blues fired made her flinch each time, even though she knew they were coming. And 'Taps." God, could anyone come up with such a sadder-sounding song?

Not to mention his wailing family. Mother and father ensconced in the middle among all of his brothers and sisters and cousins and nieces and nephews galore. She had spoken with each of them. Hell, she knew them, had been over to Ivan's house for meals and special occasions plenty of times.

At least no one seemed to be blaming her.

She was the only one blaming herself. Beating herself up. Seeing his grieving family crammed underneath that green awning to get out of the drizzle only made it worse.

_I shouldn't have left him. He might still be alive. _

_Would it had been worth it if I had killed Gambini?_

It was an argument she'd had with herself too many times to count over the last few days. Her soul felt ground to a pulp.

And, the only time she stopped thinking on it was when she was with Ray.

Of course, aside from the scores of police and fire department personnel on-hand, all somberly dressed in their best uniforms, there were plenty of pretty, single women of all shapes and sizes, some weeping openly and some staring woodenly at the ornate casket.

He would've eventually married one of them when he tired of playing the field. Had children. A family. More grandchildren for his parents to smother in love and Italian food.

But, not anymore.

They all paid their final respects to his family and drifted back towards their waiting cruisers. Helen always thought a police funeral was an impressive sight – all the cruisers and patrol cars escorting the dead to their final resting place. Even each overpass had a lone cruiser on it, lights blinking, its occupants standing in silent vigil as the hearse drove somberly underneath.

Final respects for their fallen comrade.

Luckily, Clancy wasn't very chatty on the way back to the station. Apparently, even he sensed her dark mood and ceased all his snide comments. Actually, he'd stopped that the last few days. Probably heard about Lebowitz.

Sure, Clancy was set in his ways, but she knew he didn't like Lebowitz, either. Hell, not too many people did. She even wondered about Manfred some days.

Nice to know she had her new partner's support on that, as little as it may seem. She reflected on that a bit as the windshield wipers lazily moved back and forth.

Clancy pulled up to the precinct and put the car in park. "You goin' out with everyone else?"

Helen knew when a comrade was laid to rest, the rest of them always got together at some bar or other and told stories about the guy until they were all shitfaced drunk. She'd even participated in a few of them, mostly older guys who had retired and died of liver failure or cancer or smoked themselves to death.

Not young and in the prime of their life. Like Ivan.

She shook her head absently studying the raindrops as they dripped down the windshield. "It just doesn't . . . doesn't feel right. Like he's . . . like he would . . ." she stopped, surprised at the catch in her voice.

Damn, if she wouldn't cry in front of Clancy! She didn't even shed a tear at the funeral, although she sure as hell would've liked to scream in frustration.

Clancy didn't seem phased as he finished her thought. "Like he might walk in, order a beer and join right in."

Helen blinked back her tears, surprised he understood.

It must've shown on her face because he reached over and patted her on the leg. "I lost a partner way back in '56. I know what it's like."

Helen didn't know this.

Clancy continued his story without a word from her. "Fellow I graduated from the academy with. We weren't on the force for six months before some asshole drove by and shot him as he was walking out of a restaurant. Guy said he wanted to pick a target, and ol' Georgie was it." He worked his jaw, almost as if he were trying to suppress emotions he thought he'd left behind long ago. "I was right behind him. . ." He trailed off.

"It could've been you."

For once, they were on the same page.

He glanced sideways at her, his wrinkled face showing no emotion whatsoever. "We all have that same argument with ourselves. I finally made peace with it after drowning it in a bottle for years. And, you gotta do the same thing."

Helen sat back in the seat and studied her hands, digesting all this information. "Does it get . . . any easier?"

"Eventually. If you let it. Don't let it eat you alive. Go one with your life. Live it. Don't let it consume you. Just do what you gotta do to get over it." He paused as the rain continued to drum steadily on the roof. "And, don't let pricks like Lebowitz bother you. He keeps on, you come see me." Clancy's voice was gruff, and Helen had to smile.

"Ivan would've said the same thing, you know."

"Well, that man was a saint for putting up with you," Clancy complained. But, Helen didn't take it personally. "Just do what you gotta do, Stephenson."

She mock saluted him best she could. For the first time, she felt like she had a partner again. "Yes, sir, boss."

"And don't be sassin' me, girl." Clancy reached for the handle, but stopped. "You know, I never took any stock into those rumors you and that Ivan were sleeping around. You respected each other too much, I could tell." With that, he hopped out into the rain and made a run for the building.

Helen sat there for a moment. Whoever would've guessed Clancy was taking her measure this whole time, trying to figure out just what kind of officer she really was?

Apparently, she passed his test.

Her smile faded quickly. She didn't want to go back inside. And she sure as hell didn't want to go out and get drunk and tell Ivan stories.

Ivan was the only one who would've appreciated her stories, anyway.

And, he was always on her to date. To get a life outside of the force. She always told him she didn't have time for it.

_Do what you gotta do to get over it._

So, she did the one thing she knew she needed to do. She made a run for her truck and pointed it in the direction they had just come from.


	20. Certifiable

Ray knew the guys liked Helen. How could they not? She laughed at their stories and brought them pizza. Besides, he knew for a fact Peter admired the way her uniform fit the other night while they played poker.

But, Peter was harmless. And Helen wouldn't fall for any of his lines.

Ray could've told him that. But, it was fun to watch him try.

Speaking of try . . .

They all tried one way or the other to convince him to leave her alone tonight.

He'd been tempted to call her all day. Just to see how she was fairing. Nothing complicated. It intensified as they'd gotten stuck in the traffic from the funeral on the way to a call, the lines and lines of police cruisers and fire trucks, lights somberly flashing.

Ray didn't even try to spot Helen, although she knew she was in one of those police cruisers. He knew there would be no tears today. Not in front of her co-workers. She couldn't show that kind of weakness, even in front of those she saw everyday.

Ray couldn't imagine not trusting the people you worked side-by-side with those sorts of things. But, then again, not everyone was as lucky as he was.

He'd known her long enough to know she put up a good front. Tried to be a tough girl. But, she'd put down her barriers long enough with him for him to be able to tell what it was – an act. A convincing act, but an act just the same.

And, he couldn't bear the thought of her grieving by herself. Sure, she'd call him if she needed him, just as Peter said. But, she would never admit she needed _anyone_, rather she did or not. And, Ray just couldn't explain that to Peter.

Winston casually mentioned how differently people mourned when someone close to them was killed - like her partner. And, Winston would know – the oldest of the four of them, Vietnam had shaped him into the man he was today. He'd seen more of that kind of suffering than the other three of them put together. And, Winston had mentioned she may just want to be alone.

Ray didn't buy it one bit. As usual, he had gotten an idea in his head and ran with it without thinking.

Egon had the most shocking thing to say as Ray changed out of his uniform, determined to track Helen down on this rainy evening.

"Were Helen and Ivan . . . more than partners?"

Ray had to stop and think about that one.

She'd never once mentioned it, and as always, he took it all at face value.

Why would she lie about it, anyway?

Ray knew Egon was trying to get him to think this through in his own way. "Just because she's a woman and he's a man doesn't mean they had to be sleeping together. They were partners with the department for over two years, after all. They'd seen all sorts of awful things together. Not only did the work the streets together, but they worked undercover. That takes a sort of trust that's hard to come by." He stopped for a moment, could tell they were actually thinking about what he said.

"And, think about how you'd feel," he pointed at Egon, "or you or you," pointing at Peter and Winston, "if it were me that were dead? Or if any of us ever got killed on or off the job? Think about what you'd do or how you'd react?"

"It would suck," Peter said matter-of-factly.

"Big time," Winston added. "Don't even want to think about it."

"Most definitely," Egon nodded.

Ray grabbed his jacket to help shield him from the rain. "I can't just leave her alone. At least if something happened to one of us, the rest would have each other. But, she doesn't have anyone."

Peter sighed as Ray walked out the door. "You know, I hate it when he's right."

"You hate it when anyone's right but you," Egon added with a smirk.

* * *

Helen's new partner studied him like a father giving the evil eye to one of his daughter's suitors.

"Stephenson isn't here."

Ray fought the urge to shuffle his feet like he would've done if he were 16. And, he didn't care what Helen said – this guy was obviously protective of her. Ray could tell he didn't despise her as much as she thought or he wouldn't be getting the runaround from him right now.

And Ray already knew she wasn't at her apartment. And, he knew her long enough to know, if she wasn't at work, she was at home. There weren't too many other places that took up her time.

Talk about taking your job seriously. But, then again, he wasn't one to judge. He didn't have much of a life, either.

"You're Stantz, aren't you?" Clancy studied him with narrowed eyes.

Ray didn't know how exactly he should answer that question and still keep his life. "Uh . . . yeah. She mention me?" he added hopefully.

A grumble from Clancy. It took Ray a moment to realize he was laughing. "That girl's like a closed book. She don't talk about her personal life. The rest of this place," he motioned around the busy precinct, "now, that's a different story."

"So I've heard."

Clancy cocked his head. "She open up to you, then?"

Ray thought this a strange conversation to be having, but he wasn't about to tell this rather imposing man that. Sure, Clancy was probably 20 years older than him, but he could probably break his neck with a snap of his wrist. Or shoot him with that .45 on his hip. "We're from the same town. But, we just recently . . . ran into each other again."

No need in telling the whole story. Clancy knew about the strip joint by now, anyway.

Clancy cleared his throat and adjusted his belt. "Well, if you know her so well, I imagine you know where she's at, then. Especially after today." With one last glance, Clancy turned and disappeared back down the hallway.

Ray sighed and walked back out into the dreary afternoon.

At least the rain had stopped.

He stood there for a moment and watched the busy city go on about its business.

It was a dumb idea, anyway. If she needed him, she knew where he was. Chasing after girls was never his forte, anyway.

But, he wasn't chasing like Peter did. He truly wanted to make sure she was going to be alright.

_. . . I imagine you know where she's at. Especially after today . . ._

Ray blinked. Of _course_! Clancy – the cagey bastard – had tried to give him a clue without actually coming right out and telling him!

As long as it wasn't raining, Ray decided to walk.

* * *

"I remember the time when you tripped and fell down that uncovered man hole while we were chasing some guy or other. Right on top of a nest of rats!" Helen laughed to herself, ignoring the wet ground underneath her legs as she sat on them to avoid the rain on the grass. "I've never seen you move so fast in your life! Or cuss! Good Lord, when your mother found out, she made you do 200 Hail Marys at church." A pause. "And, you know, I never quite found out just how your mother found out, either. I guess it's a small world. . ." Helen trailed off, lost in her memories. Memories the two of them had shared.

Sure, she was sharing them now with a pile of dirt and flowers mounded on top of his embalmed corpse. But, sitting in a bar with people who didn't know her half as well, faking enjoying spending time sharing their stories just wasn't what she felt like doing tonight. Maybe later. Much later.

If she ever learned how to open up, Ivan would complain.

Revenge had kept her going. Something about her even Ivan didn't know. But now, she was going to have to learn to live without it.

And now, she was talking to a dead man.

Hell, Clancy said to get over it her own way, didn't he?

She cleared her throat, ignoring the damp seeping into her uniform. Instead, she shifting to where she was sitting directly on the ground, her uniform skirt she rarely donned getting soaked.

But, she didn't care.

"Ivan, you may find this amusing, but it seems I may or may not be seeing somebody . . ."

* * *

The cemetery was large, even by New York standards. But, Ray knew she was there.

Especially after he spotted her truck.

From there, it wasn't hard to find the gravesite. The number of flowers piled on the grave rivaled any he'd ever seen.

And, there she was. Sitting right on the ground, probably soaked to the skin.

Just laying eyes on her, even from a distance, made him feel better. He didn't know where exactly he thought she may be, but this was better than drowning her sorrows in some bar among strangers who could care less.

The closer he got to her, he realized she was talking. To no one in particular.

No, that wasn't right. She was talking to Ivan, of course.

He stopped, the drizzle returning. Maybe it wasn't right to intrude.

It never crossed his mind that what she was doing was unusual.

He could just wait for her at her truck.

* * *

"I think you'd like him, Ivan. I really do. He's not all Mr. Tough Guy, but I got enough for that from you, anyway. I've never seen anyone as loyal to his friends as he is. But, Lord, he can get into trouble without even trying!" Helen chuckled and wiped a tear away that had trickled down her cheek, now mixed with the rain drops that had slowly returned.

She knew that the headstone his family ordered was the most ornate they could buy. They didn't have much, but Ivan was their brother, son and uncle. He deserved the best.

And, they were right.

"He told me that . . . that this wasn't my fault. I'd like to think he's right. I really, _really_ do. I just wish . . . I guess I just wish you were still here. To tease me about him. And to aggravate the snot out of me about it." She shifted uncomfortably on the cold ground, the tingling in her legs unmistakable.

Sitting on them for an hour will do that.

Funny, she never told Ivan about her sister and what she had made her life's goal.

But, she'd blurted out the entire story to Ray without even batting an eyelash.

Ivan would definitely have something to say about that.

"I'm . . . sorry, Ivan. I'm sorry for what I did, and I'm sorry for what I _didn't_ do. I'm . . . just sorry." Her tears were more in frustration than anything. She knew it was fruitless to talk to a mound of dirt, but maybe, just maybe, he already knew.

And, he would probably slug her on the arm and say, "Slick, you're nothing but a Sadsack having a pity party, aren't you? It's disgusting the way you've been crying lately, over something that you can't even change. Now, get on with your life!"

Helen laughed through her tears. "That's exactly what Clancy said!"

"Don't compare me to Clancy. That's an insult. Turn around, go back to your pitiful excuse for a truck and _live_, for christsake! And stop talking to a mound of dirt."

Unsteadily, she rose to her feet, wriggling her toes until the feeling returned. Yeah, she knew she wasn't having a real conversation with him. The voices in her mind were just that – in her head. But, for some reason, she felt as if that was exactly what he would say to her if he could.

Turning carefully, she started for her truck, the rain falling steadily. Instinctively, her hand went to the small of back where he gun was hidden underneath her coat when she saw a figure leaning on her truck in the rain.

But, it fell back to her side when she realized who it was, and she resumed her steady pace.

She didn't know just how he figured out where she was. Or maybe she didn't want to know. It was scary to think he could read her like he did.

And, she wasn't angry that he had tracked her down. She'd been on her own for so long, it was hard to grow accustomed to the idea that someone was there for her. Sure, she had a few friends and her family, but burdening them with something like this seemed unnecessary. They had their own issues.

But, Ray had stumbled into her life, wading right into the middle of her problems without realizing it, and offered her a way out. A helping hand. A kind word and touch in the middle of a life she had built for herself that rarely saw either one.

He didn't say a word about her standing in the middle of an empty cemetery in the rain talking to a pile of flowers. No smart remarks or even words of sympathy. All he did was hold out his arms.

And, she didn't stop until she was in them, burying her face in his chest, wrapping her own arms around him. She didn't even realize how chilled she was until his warmth enveloped her.

He spoke first. "You're not going to ask how I found you."

"Honestly, Ray? Nothing you do surprises me."

He chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"So, you don't think I'm certifiable?"

"Why would I think that?"

"For standing in the rain. Talking to a dead guy."

"I guess I'll need to worry about you when the dead guy talks back."

Helen smiled, although he couldn't see it, at the old cliché. Just how she could feel so much better, like a little of her burden had been lifted, just by letting him hold her was hard for her to fathom. "I think Ivan would've liked you."

"Really?"

She pulled away just enough to look at him. "Don't act so surprised. You're a likable kinda guy."

The hint of a blush rose on his face. "Well, . . . I guess I might've wondered . . . even Egon asked me . . .if the two of you were more than . . . friends."

Helen's eyebrow raised in mock surprise. "Well, Dr. Spengler isn't exactly the leading agent in being able to correctly acknowledge people's feelings, now is he?"

"Janine could vouch for that."

"Certainly. Ivan is – was – more like a brother to me." The sadness crept back up on her with a vengeance.

Ray brushed his finger along her cheek, wet now with just the rain, his eyes never leaving hers. And – just like that – the sadness and frustration that had haunted her retreated.

"I wish I could change it for you. Bring him back. Even your sister."

Her smile was small, but genuine. "I know you would. And, given time, you and Egon may just master time travel, too. Now, let's get out of this rain before we both die of pneumonia."

He hugged her tight one more time before letting her go. He'd stand just like this forever, rain or no.

She tossed him her keys. "Your driving has improved over the years, hasn't it?"

He grinned. "Peter would argue with you on that."

"Peter would argue with a fencepost."


	21. Bathrobe

In case you weren't already aware, I don't own anything to do with Sam Cooke or 'Bring It On Home.' Or any of the other songs mentioned in the this chapter. Obviously.

* * *

Helen tossed her keys on the counter, heaving the bags of Chinese food next to them.

"Plates are up there," she pointed to the cabinet next to the sink. "I'll be back in a minute." She peeled off her soaked uniform jacket and tossed it on the couch, unpinning her hair as she walked through the living room and down the hall to the bathroom. "Drinks are in the fridge."

Knowing he would be beyond embarrassed if he were caught, Ray found himself craning his neck to watch her as she pulled her shirt off just as she disappeared into what he assumed was her bedroom.

She poked her head back around the doorway, startling him. "You need a shower, too?"

"Uh . . . no. I was smart enough to wear a rain jacket."

She disappeared again, but not before muttering, "Smart ass."

He grinned as he started taking cartons out of the bag, the aroma wafting from it making his stomach rumble. "You know, this still doesn't count as a date," he called to her as the shower came to life.

"At this rate, we won't even know _how_ to date!" she called back.

After he finished arranging everything to his liking, he took a moment to look around. It had an obvious feminine feel – pillows on the couch and colorful rugs on the floor. But, the personal touches were missing – pictures scattered about, magnets of all the places visited on the fridge, magazines scattered on the table in front of the couch. None of that was present, at least in this part of her apartment. If anyone were invited into her life this far, they couldn't tell much about her just by looking at this room.

Ray figured that was how she liked it.

She must get some sort of extra pay when she worked undercover because most of the furniture was higher end. The only way he knew that was because it was certainly not like anything they had at the firehouse, where furniture leaned towards the Goodwill variety.

Of course, pretending to be someone you are not had to be dangerous, and she probably was paid more when she worked undercover.

Ray didn't like thinking about that at all. Sure, Helen said she pretty much couldn't do it anymore now that her identity was exposed, but he couldn't help but think she wouldn't be happy doing anything else.

In fact, he still had a difficult time thinking of the slight girl with the long ponytail who ran track in high school cuffing and stuffing anyone. Or shooting anyone. Or doing anything else police officers were required to do.

Finally, he ran across what he was looking for. Photos. They were sitting on a built-in bookshelf that housed everything from her television, which had a layer of dust on it, to a rather new-looking stereo system. He took a moment to study them.

One was of her parents that looked fairly recent. Probably a church photograph. Aunt Lois said she kept up with them. But, Aunt Lois kept up with everybody.

There was another that he picked up to study closer. It was the Helen he remembered the most – all smiles in her cheerleader uniform standing next to her '55 Chevy.

Ray wondered what happened to that car. He always wanted to work on it – it had a distinct skip in the motor - but after he blew up her bicycle years before, she wouldn't let him near it. Not that he blamed her.

He set that frame back where he found it. The last one was of her and her sister. It looked fairly worn, and Ray had a sneaking suspicion it traveled with her, even undercover.

He also had a sneaking suspicion that she hadn't quite squelched her desire to get even with the guy she thought killed Katie. It wasn't like Helen to give up so easily. That much about her hadn't changed a bit.

"It was one of the last pictures we had taken together," Helen said as she padded into the room rubbing her wet hair with a towel. She stopped next to him and looked at it in his hand. He could smell her shampoo –peppermint. At least he now knew where the scent he had associated with her came from.

She was also wearing a pink fluffy bathrobe tied tightly about her waist.

He couldn't help but wonder what she had on underneath it.

"I always thought she was prettier than me." Not bitter; she was just stating a fact.

Ray looked at her like she was crazy. "I always thought Carl didn't choose the right sister." He blushed after he realized what he had said.

A smile played at the corners of her lips. "That's what I like about you, Ray. Say what you're thinking."

Quickly, he sat the photo back in its place and tried to push his unease aside. "It doesn't look like you're here often."

She moved towards the kitchen, still toweling her hair. "Between working extra shifts and working undercover, it _is_ rare." She opened a door to what Ray assumed was a laundry room and tossed the towel inside. "I'm starving!" She started rooting in the fridge, pulling out a six-pack. "Sorry, that's all I've got."

* * *

It probably should have struck Helen as strange, but she was as comfortable waltzing around her apartment in nothing but her bathrobe and wet hair around Ray as she would've been if he were not here.

And, it didn't seem to bother him one way or the other.

Either way, she was glad he was here, coaxing her to tell stories about her and Ivan's adventures as they demolished the moogoo gai pan and the egg fu yung on the couch, the radio softly playing a classic rock station in the background.

She rooted around with her chopsticks to find the last piece of chicken in her fried rice as Paul Simon listed all the ways to leave your lover. Sure, Ray never knew Ivan, but telling him all these stories, she knew he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. "You know, this is much better than sitting in a grungy bar drinking watered-down beer and playing pool with the guys on the force. Or sitting here by myself in the dark wallowing in self-pity."

Ray took a swig of his beer and sat the bottle aside. "That's nice to know I rank somewhere higher than those things."

She smiled and sat her empty carton aside, pulling her legs underneath her and sitting where she was facing him. "I have a confession to make."

"Uh-oh."

She tossed a chopstick at him playfully, which he dodged expertly. "I honestly didn't think about calling you tonight. It's nice to know . . . well, it's nice to know you just knew that's what I needed without me even asking. It's been . . . it's been awhile. Since I was close to someone like that." She looked away, a little uncomfortable with her confession. "And, it's a little discerning that you keep rushing in to save the day."

Paul Simon faded and Van Morrison's "Tupelo Honey" filled the air. "That's supposed to be your job, isn't it?" he teased. With her now-dry hair curling about her face, she looked angelic in the soft light from the lone lamp in the room. He almost couldn't take his eyes off her, and her small smile made his heart flip-flop in his chest.

"It's hard to believe that was over two weeks ago, I didn't even know we were in the same city." Her smile faded. _And, two weeks ago, she still had a chance to catch Gambin,i and Ivan was still alive . . ._

Guilt stabbed through her chest. Here she was, laughing and having a good time, and her partner was lying in a box underneath the cold, wet ground.

"Hey."

She looked at him.

"He wouldn't want you to mope forever, you know."

Helen sighed, absently pushing her hair away from her face. "It just . . . it just hits me at the most inopportune times. I guess it always will." _Just like Katie._

Ray shifted on the couch, propping his left ankle on his right knee to get more comfortable. "It always will. But you do get used to it."

_He would know._ "I was just sitting here thinking it's been years since Katie died, and it still hits me harder on some days than others. I forgot . . . well, I forgot you might get it."

"I think what's more disturbing is the fact that you _may_ get used to it. That it won't affect you, it won't hit you like a ton of bricks in the middle of the day. Once that happens, I guess . . . well, I guess you might have more wrong with you than you think."

She smiled at him. "You sound like Peter. Isn't therapy more his game?"

"If you catch him on a good day."

"Well, it's nice to know I'm normal, then."

"Now, I didn't _say_ that!"

"You're one to talk about knowing what's normal, Mr. I-Chase-Ghosts-For-A-Living," she sassed back good-naturedly.

"Hey, it pays the bills. Most of the time, at least."

They sat in silence for a moment. The radio switched to Creedence searching for the light to find their way home.

"What do you do? To cope with . . . with the loss of your parents?" she asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

Considering the fact that he'd move heaven and earth for her, he wasn't about to _not_ answer her question. "It's easy to be bitter. But, I tried to find things to look forward to. Things to keep me going."

"Despite the situation you found yourself in."

Ray forgot she probably knew. His plight was probably discussed around many a dinner table back home. "You just have to go on living. Look forward, not backward. Because living in the past won't do you any good. Find something . . . something positive. A reason to go on."

Helen wondered if he was trying to berate her for focusing so much of her life for getting back with Gambini. But, she wasn't in the mood to argue. Mainly, because he was probably right.

And, he sounded just like Clancy.

Jim Croce talked to the operator as she rose stiffly from the couch and reached for the empty cartons.

He stood up to help. In only a few minutes, they had the remnants of the meal stuffed in the trash, the few dishes in the sink.

"I'll wash them later."

"Good. I always hated that part."

"I imagine not too many dishes get washed by the four of you, huh?" She crossed her arms and leaned on the counter.

"Janine really is a saint when you think about what she has to put up with."

"Don't tell her I agree. She might not believe it."

"I still think she likes you more than she lets on. Just like Clancy."

Helen blinked in surprise. "Clancy?"

"Yeah, I saw him at the station today."

"You went to the _station_?"

He was a little taken aback. Why would she be mad about that? "Well . . . yeah. I thought you might've still been there."

Her eyes had a steely glint. "Did anyone else say anything to you?"

He fought her questions with more questions, feeling almost as if he were suddenly having to defend himself and his actions. "Why does it matter?"

Helen took a deep breath and shook her head, reaching over and putting her hand on his arm. "I didn't mean it that way. Honestly. So, stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like a puppy I just kicked or something."

"Oh." But, he did lose the hangdog look.

She debated on even bringing it up. What good what it do? Except for the fact it would be nice to talk to someone about it.

He took her hand still on his arm in his. "Something's wrong." It wasn't a question, but a statement of truth.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "It's nothing, really. I've just been getting some . . . some flack about hanging out with you. And the guys," she added quickly. "I didn't want them to decide to . . . to say something to you, as well."

"What are they saying?" he asked. It was an innocent question, but Helen could see the wariness on his face. It looked out-of-place.

She waved her hand in a dismissive fashion. "Nothing I've really taken to heart. They're just jealous, I think. Lebowitz has been trying to get me to go to bed with him as long as I've known him."

"The bullies in life never grown up, do they?"

"No. They just grow up to be adult bullies."

"You handle it well, at least."

"Yeah. I turned the other cheek."

"Even when you really wanted to punch him in the mouth," Ray finished. She laughed aloud. "See, I know you better than you think I do."

His sincere smile made her heart melt, as much as she loathed to admit it.

"You're easier to read than you think you are. On a good day. But, honestly, most of the time, I just take a shot in the dark. I have no idea what runs through that brain of yours." He patted the side of her head for emphasis.

"That's a good thing. It's probably scarier in there than in your containment unit."

Jim Croce faded, and the chords of a song they were all too familiar with filled the air.

And, it just seemed instinctive for her to head straight for the safety of his arms as Sam Cooke started crooning.

_If you ever change your mind_

_About leavin', leavin' me behind . . ._

Helen closed her eyes as they swayed to the music that drifted from the stereo in the living room. Instantly, she was seventeen again. Her only worries were how annoying her boyfriend was and if her hair would look right for the prom. Her sister was still alive. Both of their futures still held so much promise.

And, she couldn't believe Ray Stantz hadn't let her 'fess up for her assistance in blowing up the school chemistry lab.

"I have a confession to make," Ray's voice rumbled in her ear.

Helen raised her head to look at him. "You, too, Ray? Must be catching."

His smile was a little embarrassed. "I should've kissed you that night."

The corners of her lips turned up instinctively, and she leaned against his chest again. She could hear his heart beating, a little faster. "I wondered why you didn't."

"You wanted me to?" He sounded a little incredulous.

"Honestly, I probably wanted to make old what's-his-face mad." She looked at him again. "But, that was the first time I'd ever danced with you. And I liked it. It just felt . . . right."

_. . . I know I laughed when you left,  
But now I know I only hurt myself . . ._

He was clearly amused. "Even standing in a yard in the middle of the night with me in my pajamas?"

"I wouldn't have had it any other way. And, you're going to miss your chance. Again."

"For what?"

"For that kiss."

He didn't need to be told twice.

Neither one of them could've told what came on the radio after that.

Especially after he finally got to see what she had on underneath that robe.


	22. Anything for You

At first she thought she imagined it – the muffled sound of the phone ringing intruding into her sleep.

But, didn't her phone ring louder than that?

When whatever it was stopped, she began to drift off again, the weight of Ray's arm heavy across her side.

When it started up again, she finally realized what the problem was. Her robe had wound up in the vicinity of her nightstand, and in the process, had knocked the phone onto the floor.

She was surprised it was even still on the hook.

After some blind shuffling with her face still buried in her pillow, she managed to yank the stupid thing up by the phone cord. More fumbling, and she put it to her ear.

"Mmmffff."

"Wow. You're asleep. I imagined you two would still be at it."

Helen nudged a still-sleeping Ray with her elbow.

No response.

The phone still in her hand, she nudged him again, harder this time.

The snoring stopped with a muffled snort. "Huh?"

She handed him the phone over her shoulder. "S' for you."

Still more asleep than awake, he took it from her, burying his nose in her hair splayed across his pillow. Mmmmm. Peppermint. "Hmmmm?"

"Ray, my man! What's goin' on?"

Ray groaned and sat up. "What time is it?"

Peter sounded rather chipper to not be a morning person. "Oh, about 4 a.m. Give or take a few. Sorry to wake you. You could think of a few better ways for you to wake up, huh?"

Ray's gaze settled on Helen snoozing away next to him. That he could. "I know you didn't track me down to annoy me. What's going on?"

"I really am sorry to bother you, but we're in sort of a bind here." All kidding aside now.

Ray was instantly awake. "What's the matter?"

"It seems that we have this _teensy-weensy_ problem."

Ray didn't like the sound of that. "With?"

"Welllll, are you familiar with Wiccans?"

Helen woke up and stretched, rolling over to look at him. He tried not to stare as she reached over, just barely holding the sheet over her chest, and flicked on the lamp. After she sat it upright first.

"Hello, Ray? You there?"

"Right. Wiccans. A Neopagan religion."

"Great, you've heard of them! Then, you're aware that they have some sort of belief that God is two beings."

"Yeah, the God and Goddess."

"Seems that they might've had it right."

After determining it wasn't anything horrible, Helen yawned and rolled over on her stomach, her back exposed as she buried her head in her pillow.

It was all Ray could do to pay attention to Peter. "Huh?"

"A group of local Wiccans has managed to conjure up the God and Goddess. And they are _not_ happy campers."

Now, _that_ got his attention. "Really? Wow!"

"Not exactly 'wow.' They're wrecking havoc on Manhattan as we speak."

Ray would've jumped up right then if the phone cord would've let him. By now, it was stretched as taunt as it could go. "I'll be ready in just a minute. . ." Now, just where were his pants? He glanced around the room.

"Gotta find your clothes, huh? And, we're downstairs. I'm calling across the street from a payphone."

"Why didn't you say so? I'll be right down!"

He didn't even give Peter a chance to say anything else. Tossing the phone in Helen's general direction, he jumped up.

"They can't make it one night without you, huh?" Helen's voice was muffled in her pillow as she hung up the phone the best she could.

"Wiccans managed to bring their God and Goddess to life. How great is that?"

She rolled over on her side, tucking the pillow underneath her head. "Honestly? I don't think I want to know. As long as I don't have to be called in to direct traffic." He was half-dressed on his hands and knees looking underneath the bed. "It's under that chair over there."

He snatched it the errant sock. "Believe it or not, they're already outside waiting on me."

"No time for a quickie, then?"

He managed to haphazardly put on both his shoes while standing up, jumping around in the process. He knelt down beside the bed. "I guess this will have to do."

He gathered her in his arms and kissed her. Lord, how he kissed her! And, they both almost forgot the situation at hand until a horn started honking from the street six stories below.

Reluctantly, he broke away. With a slightly shaky hand, she reached up and tried to smooth his hair. "You better get going before they wake up the whole building."

"Uh . . . right." It took him a moment to get his brain firing. Not with this wonderful creature right here in front of him that he just had the most amazing night . . .

Peter gave up on honking the horn. The siren wailed distinctively.

"OK, OK! I'll be right there!" Ray yelled, although he knew they couldn't hear.

She playfully shoved him away. "Go!"

One more quick kiss. "Come by when you get off work."

"Sure thing." Still with her head propped on her hand, she watched as he found his wallet and keys.

Ray made his way to the door.

"Be careful!" she called out.

"Always!" he answered before shutting the door to her apartment.

"Yeah, right," she mumbled to herself.

The siren sounded again, wailing from the streets below.

Huffing and puffing, Helen rose from the bed, grabbing her robe. She walked to her window and with a little bit of effort, raised it and stuck her head out.

Sure enough, Ecto-1 was illegally parked on the sidewalk. Peter grinned up at her. Winston and Egon were nowhere to be found. Probably in the car out of harm's way.

"Cut the racket! He's on his way down!"

"Thought I was going to have to turn the water hose on the two of you!" Peter answered in return.

"You would, wouldn't you? Now, shut _up_!" She slammed the window shut and returned to the bed, getting comfortable again, the ache in her body a blissful reminder of the night's extracurricular activities.

Hell of a better way to end it than the way it started.

* * *

"Where're we headed?" Ray asked, slamming the door behind him. He wasn't wearing the usual jumpsuit, but no big deal. His street clothes were fine this one time.

"The docks," Winston said, flipping on the sirens and the lights. Traffic was light this time of night, so he expertly maneuvered the big car in a U-turn and headed towards the bay. "The Wiccans were so scared, they're the ones that even called it in."

"It appears they brought their God and Goddess to our world, but they weren't as forgiving for it as the Wiccans would've liked," Egon added from the front seat.

"Didn't turn out like they thought, huh?" Ray asked, his mind already searching for what he did and did not know about the religious group. Sure, pleasure was pleasure, but business was business.

"So, did tonight turn out like _you_ thought it would, Ray?" Peter asked, turning in the seat to face his friend.

_Oh boy, did it ever . . ._

Ray knew he was blushing, but couldn't help it.

"You couldn't resist, could you, Peter?" Egon asked rhetorically.

"I believe that my personal affairs are none of your concern," Ray said as snidely as he could manage. Which wasn't very.

"I think he just told you to mind your own damn business," Winston said as he took a sharp turn, all of them bracing themselves for it.

Peter laughed. "Oh, I imagine we won't be seeing much of Dr. Stantz in the near future."

"Hopefully," Ray added.

Peter cackled even louder.

Egon cleared his throat. "Back to the Wiccans . . ."

* * *

"I thought you were in jail! Or at least out of the city by now!" Her voice tried to be seductive, but failed. Cindy never did quite master that ability.

But, Gambini didn't care. All he knew was that this girl was as loyal as they came. And after Joe turned up, Gambini knew he'd have to have someone else to make his plan work. Someone Roxie – no Helen, - would not think of as a threat.

He picked up Cindy's well-manicured hand and kissed the back of it as she tittered. "I'm more elusive than that. Have faith in me, my pet."

"Oh, I do, Rocco, I do!"

"I have a little proposition for you, dear . . ."

Cindy practically drooled all over yourself. "Anything for you, Rocco!"

"You heard about Roxie?"

Her excitement dulled a bit. "I never would've guessed she's a cop. Ivan, too."

_You wouldn't have guessed a lot of things, hon_. "Well, she got the drop on us. Ivan has been eliminated," he noted Cindy's flinch as he used that term, "but, I have an idea to deal with Helen . . ."


	23. Job Hazard

"Boy, you're in a chipper mood today," Clancy mumbled as they cruised the streets towards the end of their shift.

Helen figured anything was happier than the way she'd been feeling lately. And, if last night didn't put her in a good mood, nothing will. "You know . . . I am."

"Even though we buried your old partner only yesterday?"

She cut her eyes at him, some of her contentment waning. "And, I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life. If I didn't misinterpret what you told me the other day." Cheap shot, and he knew it.

He mumbled something underneath his breath that Helen couldn't understand. After another moment of silence as the streets of New York slid by, he had to open his mouth again. Helen hoped he would just drop it if he were going to act like an ass hat.

"It doesn't have something to do with that Ghostbuster fella that stopped by yesterday, does it?"

Helen chose her words carefully. Last thing she wanted to do was get Clancy's radar up and running on her personal life. "I heard about your little visit."

"He found ya, then?"

Helen rubbed her eyes. Yeah, she was going to have to live with reminders of Ivan all her life. Might as well get used to it. "Yup."

"I knew he'd figure it out. Seemed like a bright enough fella."

"He is that."

Another moment of silence. Helen knew it was coming, knew Clancy was chomping at the bit to ask it.

"I'm not going to have to slap him around a bit, too, am I?"

Helen couldn't help but smile. "You told me to go on with my life my own way, didn't you?"

He shifted a bit in the driver's seat uncomfortably, suddenly realizing where this conversation was heading. "Well . . . yeah."

"Then, that's what I'm doing. Unless you want to know the gory details?" she asked innocently.

"Good Lord, no! Keep it to yourself!" He hit the blinker with a little more force than necessary.

She grinned, her little verbal victory returning her good spirits.

The scanner crackled to life. "Unit 86, do you copy?" It was the station on a private channel. Many civilians had police scanners to keep up with what was going on in their fair, but crime-ridden city, but there were still a few frequencies that were kept private.

Helen picked up the walkie-talkie. "Unit 86."

"You almost back at the station?"

She exchanged a glance with Clancy – what a strange question - and keyed the mike. "Copy. A few blocks away. What's wrong, Hal?"

A long pause. "Unit 86, you've been getting calls on another channel this afternoon."

"On the radio?" Helen asked. Who in the world . . .

More static. "From a Janine."

Helen didn't answer at first. Her mouth had mysteriously gone dry.

"Do you copy, Unit 86?"

"Copy that. Did she say what she wanted?"

"She was fairly insistent on talking to you and you only." Hal sounded a little miffed about that.

An uneasy feeling flitted through Helen's chest. "What channel was it?"

A pause. "Seven."

"I'll contact her." Her mind was a whirl, trying to figure out exactly what Janine wanted. And none of the answers were positive . . .

"She's actually on the line, now. Do you want I should patch her through to you?" Hal sounded annoyed, but hell, he gets paid to do this, doesn't he?

"That'd be great, Hal."

"Oh, and since I'm your personal secretary today, some chick stopped by earlier looking for you. Said her name was Cindy. Didn't catch a last name."

"10-4," Helen said distractedly.

_Cindy? Who the hell is Cindy . . ._

"What was that all about?" Clancy asked.

All Helen could do was shrug as she waited impatiently for Janine's voice. Maybe she just had a question. Something simple. Mundane. Safe.

Yeah, right.

"Is this Lt. Helen Stephenson with the NYPD?" The no-nonsense nasal Brooklyn accent was unmistakable.

"It's me, Janine. What's the problem?"

"He didn't want me to call you, but I didn't think that was right. I'd want to know if it were me. I mean, after last night and all. . ."

Helen couldn't interrupt her as long as Janine was talking, and she almost threw the mike through the windshield in frustration. She didn't even realize that they were sitting in the police lot, engine idling, Clancy with his arm on the steering wheel looking at her, waiting to see what would happen.

"The guys are at the hospital. With Ray."

Helen felt her stomach plummet. And realized Janine had finally released the button.

"What happened?" her voice was calm, collected. Not what she felt on the inside, that was for damn sure.

A pause before she continued, her voice sounding teeny on the radio speaker. "I'm not sure, but apparently they were all knocked around a bit. Ray more so. He was . . . coughing up blood. Egon thought . . . well, he thought he may have broken a rib or three."

Helen rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. "Let me guess. He went charging in without thinking, didn't he?"

"That sounds about right." Janine sounded resigned to the truth. She'd dealt with it before. "I've tried to get you all day."

A moment to collect herself. Broken rib. That's not so bad . . .but if they'd been there that long and still didn't know anything, maybe it was something worse . . . Helen keyed the mike with a shaky hand. "Which hospital?"

"County."

"I'm on my way." She tossed the mike on the dash and put her hand on the door handle.

"Hey!"

Helen stopped halfway out of the car. "I'm not in the mood for your smart-ass comments, Clancy . . ."

"Get in." He put the car back in drive.

Helen paused. It would get her there faster . . . but some new mandate in a job full of rules and regulations managed to surface in her addled brain. "The chief won't like it if he found out."

Clancy revved the engine. "Screw 'em."

Helen couldn't argue with that logic. Clancy shot out of the parking lot before she even shut her door, siren wailing.

It wasn't that far to County, but to Helen, it seemed like an eternity.

He's fine. Just fine. Nothing serious. At least . . . they didn't tell me if it were serious.

Helen stopped her mental montage long enough to think on that, her hands fisted tightly in her lap as the city zipped by in a blur.

Janine wouldn't lie to me about that? Would she?

And, just when did it begin to matter so much? Almost two weeks ago, I was blissfully ignorant of Ray and his tendencies to find trouble, and now . . .

"He'll be alright. Seemed like a tough little guy."

Helen cleared her throat as the hospital came into sight. Sure enough, there was Ecto-1 parked illegally on the curb.

Seeing it just brought it all home to her, and she swallowed hard. "I sure hope so."

He came to a screeching halt in front of the imposing structure, wondering himself just what exactly was going on with his new partner and this guy. It sure wasn't long before she got attached to him . . . "I'll log out for you."

Helen nodded once in acknowledgement before climbing out of the car, now with only the lights flashing. No sirens in a hospital zone. That really would piss off the captain.

Clancy waited until he saw her hurry in the building before taking a moment to study the ficacta car parked halfway on the sidewalk.

"Whatever she's gotten herself into, I hope she knows what she's doin'," he muttered before hitting the siren twice and pulling back into traffic.

* * *

Steely-eyed, she entered the busy ER, eyes scanning the crowd for someone she recognized.

Nothing.

And that was not a good sign.

Or was it?

Helen argued with herself as she made her way through the sickly crowd to the front desk. _Since when do they admit someone for broken ribs? Well, he was coughing up blood. Maybe it WAS something else – something worse. _

_Maybe . . ._

"Excuse me." Her cop voice. It didn't ask, it commanded. They all learned it early at the academy

The harried woman looked up. "Take a number, and the nurse will get with you."

"I'm not a patient. I'm looking for Raymond Stantz." Her voice was clipped, assuming that she would get the information without an argument.

The woman opened her mouth – Helen figured to point out hospital privacy policies. Helen beat her to it. "I need to finish up some paperwork on . . . the accident." Or whatever the hell it was that happened out there.

Lord help her if her captain found out she used her badge to lie her way to information.

The woman studied her disapprovingly over her glasses – what's with the prickly administrative personnel lately, anyway? – and studied a clipboard for a few moments. "Sixth Floor. East wing. Room 682."

Helen almost blurted out a question – namely, why did they admit him – but kept her mouth shut. "Thank you," she said hurriedly before making her way to the elevators.

If she were just finishing paperwork, she wouldn't actually _care_ why he was admitted, anyway.

Impatiently, she rode the ancient elevator to the sixth floor, stopping on each floor to drop off and pick up patrons and hospital staff.

If she knew what to expect up there, this wouldn't be so torturous.

Finally, the doors labored open on the correct floor. Smartly, she stepped past the crowd and onto the floor, pausing to get her bearings.

And, right in front of her lounging in what looked like the waiting room, was Egon and Peter.

Helen could've kissed them both.

Instead, she made a beeline for the door, pushing it open.

They both looked up.

She paused. "So, I guess you've _all_ been through the ringer, huh?"

Peter, a bandage over one eye, shrugged nonchalantly. "Job hazard. Winston's the only one that managed to come out without a scratch on him."

"He usually does," Egon said dryly as he studied what Helen now knew was a PKE meter. What looked suspiciously like a bruise was forming on his cheek. The thought briefly entered Helen's mind as to if his glasses were actually broken when whatever it was smacked him, or did he carry extra glasses around.

Knowing Egon, even as little as she did, probably the latter.

"He's with Ray," Peter continued, tossing a well-worn magazine aside. "What took you so long?"

"Why're they admitting him? What happened?" Helen asked, ignoring his question. "Is he going to be alright?" She hated they way her voice seemed to crack, but damn it, the suspense was killing her!

"Pulmonary contusions from contact with a steel beam. They want to keep him overnight for observation," Egon still tinkered with the PKE meter.

"That's why he was coughing up blood?" Helen asked, a little dazed. A steel beam?

"Don't forget the concussion," Peter offered.

"Concussion?" Helen sat in the nearest chair, her legs suddenly too weak to hold herself up.

"He passed out after he started coughing up blood. Hence, the concussion." At Helen's stricken expression, he hurriedly added, "but, he'll be alright. Nothing serious."

"Raymond's never been able to handle the sight of his own blood," Egon mentioned offhandedly.

Helen's mind tried to grasp this information, but her mind wouldn't respond.

_He's fine. He'll be just fine. No problem . . ._

She realized they were both staring at her, waiting on a reaction, so she asked the first question that surfaced from her murky brain. "So . . . this God and Goddess? Did you . . . get them?" she asked weakly.

"Oh, that was the easy part," Peter said, waving away her concerns with a flick of his wrist. "After we got past all the flying debris at the docks, busting them was a piece of cake."

Egon chuckled humorlessly. Helen figured it was most certainly not a 'piece of cake,' as Peter so eloquently put it.

At the docks. That's why she didn't hear about it today. Her precinct didn't cover the docks.

_He's fine. He's OK. . ._

For the first time since Janine's voice crackled over the radio in her squad car, her heart rate slowed a bit.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

* * *

Egon had already figured out Helen was a fairly tough cookie, what happened at the strip club notwithstanding. Anyone who was with the NYPD as long as she was had to have a firm grip on their emotions.

And, she was sure wrestling with them now. It wasn't obvious. The way she clenched and unclenched her jaw. And her hands in her lap – Egon figured she'd have marks the way her nails were digging into her palms. Sure, she looked like a tough cop on the outside, but she was anything but on the inside.

Egon didn't think for a moment that Peter didn't notice. The man could read people better than anyone, despite his flippant attitude. And, he figured Peter was doing the best thing possible – ignoring it. Let her compose herself in her own time, in her own way.

That was fine with Egon. He hated emotional scenes, anyway.

And, he had to come to terms with what had happened himself. Of course, Ray had barged in the warehouse where the Wiccans had holed up without thinking. And, of course, he had gotten hit by the first piece of debris – some sort of steel beam.

However, he had picked himself up, and off they went, finally cornering the God and Goddess and trapping them.

It wasn't until it was all over that Ray had coughed up blood and passed out.

Because Ray wouldn't miss out on the fun for anything.

Winston had pulled them all through, jumping into action. Ray wasn't out long, and they had him in the car before you could say 'ectoplasm.'

But, it had still shaken him. The youngest and by far the most enthusiastic of their bunch, Ray was often called the 'heart and soul' of the Ghostbusters.

Egon was certain that was the correct assessment. And for a slim moment, he thought they may lose him.

And, obviously, Helen thought the same thing as she convinced herself that her worst fears – and no telling what they were – were not coming to fruition.

Sure, it wasn't like Ray to go to bed with every woman he came across, either. But, there was something between these two – something that made Ray take risks on many different levels to keep her safe. And happy.

"Would you like to see him?"

Helen's head snapped up, her eyes meeting his. He couldn't help but notice the grateful look she gave him. "I didn't know if I could . . ."

"They're just getting him settled. It shouldn't be too much longer."

She gave him a small smile. "Thanks, Egon."

Peter had to interrupt, shaking his finger at her in mock disapproval. "Hey, now, you gotta behave yourself! I don't think he'll be able to manage . . ."

"Good grief, Peter!" Egon finished as Peter laughed.

Helen even looked a little more like the Helen he had become accustomed to, rolling her eyes. Although, the hint of a blush across her cheeks was hard to miss. It made the few freckles on her nose stand out. And, it made her lose that tough cop look even more, despite the badge and the gun and the handcuffs on her hip.

Egon could tell what Ray saw in her.

* * *

The pain medication helped. A lot. Instead of feeling like there was an elephant sitting on his chest, it felt like maybe just a dog. A large dog. But, not an elephant. In fact, it made Ray feel so much better, he probably could've gone back home for the night.

If he could stay awake long enough, that is.

It was hard to stay aware of what was going on, but he was pretty sure they were admitting him. Since he was in no shape to protest – Peter was going to have a fit when he found out how much it cost – he went along with it. Thankfully, Winston was there to sign all the proper paperwork, and before he knew it, he was in some sort of hospital gown with a suspicious draft, an IV in his arm and some sort of monitor attached to his finger.

He drifted off before he could figure out where the beeping noise came from.

What woke him up next, he couldn't say. But, he could tell the morphine was wearing off. Slowly, he opened one eye, then the other.

His vision was a little blurred – don't tell the doctors or they might make me stay longer – but what looked like a cop was sitting in a chair next to the bed watching him.

He blinked, his vision clearing.

Helen. And she was not happy.

Oh . . . shit.

He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to get his vision to clear and trying not to poke himself in the eye with the heart monitor on his finger.

"Told them not to call me, huh? Didn't want me to worry, hmmmm?"

He sighed – or tried to. It hurt like hell.

It must have shown on his face because her tone immediately switched to one of concern. "Do I need to get one of the nurses?" She started to rise.

He reached out and grabbed her arm to keep her there, although it didn't help the pain in his ribs. After a brief moment, the worst of it subsided to a dull ache, and he managed to shake his head. "Don't . . .I'll be fine."

Reluctantly, she returned to her chair. "Jesus, Ray . . ." was all she said as she watched him compose himself.

He took a tentative breath. "It'll get better. It always does." Gingerly, he reached over and patted her leg in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"You've done this before, huh?"

He noted she tried to sound flippant, but failed miserably.

_Wait a minute . . . she was worried? About him?_

That thought made him feel warm and fuzzy. And he was pretty sure it wasn't the pain meds.

A sigh as she leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. "I thought chasing ghosts wasn't dangerous."

"They aren't. It's the flying steel that'll get you every time."

She wasn't amused. "We've really got to talk about this careless exuberance you have for your job."

"Says the woman with a mean-looking Sig Sauer on her hip." All he was doing was trying to get her to smile . . .

She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, finally exhaling. But, she didn't smile. "I guess there's really not that much difference, then. In what we do."

Ray shifted uncomfortably on the hard mattress, trying his best to ignore the pain that surfaced with each tiny movement he made. He was feeling sleepy again and stifled a yawn. "You shouldn't worry so much. Winston does enough of that for all of us."

"He has the patience of Job." A hint of a smile on her tired face.

"You look tired," he commented, holding out his hand. She reached out hesitantly and took it, linking her fingers with his.

"Between last night and your little escapade today, it's been a long day," she admitted. "Although, I much preferred last night to this."

Ray groaned as he got as comfortable as he could before he nodded off. "Trust me, so do I. Now, go home. Get some sleep."

She looked startled. "But . . . someone needs to stay here. Don't they? In case . . . well, just in case . . ."

Ray yawned. "Don't worry about it. They'll release me in the morning, anyway. Plus, you've got a shift, don't you?"

"I don't know . . ."

"One of the guys will be back here some time or other. . ."

Helen opened her mouth to protest, but just as quickly shut it.

There was no arguing with him, anyway. He was already asleep.

And she sure as hell wasn't leaving. Getting as comfortable as she could in the overstuffed lounge chair, she propped her feet on the edge of his bed, letting the soft beeping of the heart monitor and his even breathing lull her to sleep.


	24. Static Electricity

"I've never known anyone so stubborn in my _life_!" Helen daintily wiped powdered sugar off her mouth with a cheap paper napkin.

"Looked in the mirror lately?" Clancy asked, brushing the white substance off his uniform. Powdered doughnuts always were his downfall.

She shot him a look and continued. "He wasn't out of the hospital for two days before he was back lugging that crazy ass proton pack around. I've never seen a bruise so horrendous in my life, and it doesn't even seem to _faze_ him!"

"Hell, it's his job, strange as it may be. Can't deny a man his right to work."

Helen didn't know what possessed her to talk so candidly about Ray to Clancy. Then again, she and Clancy had called sort of a truce. "I think he just does it to annoy me."

"It's so easy to do," he grumbled.

Helen watched a mother with three children in tow venture out onto the sidewalk from the doughnut shop as she studiously ignored her partner's comment. Sure, it was cliché, but this place made the best doughnuts in the city. And there were a lot of doughnut shops in New York.

Ivan always liked this place, too.

And, God help her, Ray was going to drive her insane.

But, Clancy was apparently determined to continue his train of thought. "He's made it this far without you. I think he'll be just fine, even having to put up with you."

Helen didn't argue, pursing her lips and crossing her arms in annoyance. She wouldn't admit in a million years that Clancy was right.

Just the thought of Ray lying in that hospital bed almost made her want to be sick. And, he'd apparently been in that same situation numerous times before.

And, there was nothing she could do to stop him from running pell-mell into another melee.

She was probably more pissed at herself than with Ray. For caring – no, wait. Not for caring. But, for being crazy enough to fall for someone who rarely, if ever, thought about his own safety in a crisis of any kind . . .

"And, it seems to me he's OK enough to keep you up and night and make you come in all bleary-eyed and late the past few mornings."

Helen reached over and punched Clancy in the arm.

"Ow! Godd_ammi_t, woman!" he roared, rubbing his upper arm.

Helen smiled maliciously. Ivan always hated those sneak attacks, too. "I tried to be quiet and ignore you, but _noooooo_ – you had to keep on poking the lion with a stick…"

"All units, all units. Please be advised, we have a disturbance at 3rd and 66th streets. Any units in the vicinity are asked to respond."

Helen picked up the handset as Clancy cranked the car, the powerful engine roaring to life. "Unit 86, copy. What sort of disturbance?"

No response from headquarters as a few other units in the area acknowledged the call.

Finally, an answer. "It sure as hell ain't domestic. But, it's got an entire warehouse taken over by some sort of lightening, and traffic in the business district shot to hell."

What could she say? "10-4."

"Copy, Unit 86."

"Lightening? _Inside_ a warehouse?" Clancy muttered.

"Is that even possible?" Helen asked, looking at the sky. There wasn't a cloud in it, and she had to squint against the brightness of the sun.

There were already three units on the scene when they finally screeched to a halt. Gawkers stared at the warehouse from a safe distance, and Clancy found one of the others on the scene – Helen thought it was Mike Rodgers.

The man on the SWAT team that found her holed up in Gambini's office.

Gambini . . .

No time for that.

Helen had to gawk herself. Sure enough, there was some sort of electrical current around the building, buzzing and popping enough to make her hair stand up on her arms.

She reached for the walkie-talkie. "Base, this is Unit 86. Has someone called the power company?"

A hum in the radio that hadn't been there at the doughnut shop. "They were called in 20 minutes ago, Unit 86. No power to the entire block. Was like that when they got there."

More snapping and popping. Helen propped her hand on the top of the car, and pulled back with a start when it shocked her.

Clancy rushed up behind her, huffing and puffing. "Unit 12's already inside."

Lebowitz and Manfred. "How'd they get through _that_?"

"It . . . uh . . . doesn't shock you. Like you would think. At least, according to Mike." Clancy motioned over his shoulder towards Mike keeping the crowd back the best he could. "And, it's gotten worse."

"Looks like it'd knock you all the way to Queens." She cocked her head. A new noise over the popping sound of electrical current that wasn't really electrical current. Was it . . .moaning?

Clancy didn't hear or notice and kept talking. "Some of the people that ran out of there said there's some sort of . . . of _thing_ floating around near the ceiling, complaining about . . ."

The unmistakable sound of gunfire echoed from the building, making a few in the crowd gasp in surprise, Helen and Clancy automatically reaching for their own weapons.

Helen reached for the mike again. "Base, Unit 86. We have gunfire – repeat, we have gunfire from inside the building!"

"Unit 12's been out of range since they told us they were going in, Unit 86." The hum in the system was louder, and she could barely hear Hal.

Helen pressed the button, her face tense. "The walkie-talkie's can't work in there, not with all that interference."

More gunfire. More gasps from the crowd.

She and Clancy glanced at each other. Sure, they might not like Lebowitz or Manfred, but they were fellow officers.

Clancy shrugged, as if to say, 'What the hell else we gonna do?'

Helen nodded once and keyed the mike. "Base, we're going in." She almost set it down, but paused before tossing it in the window of their cruiser. "Base? This may be way out of our league. I want you to call this number," she recited it from memory, "and tell whoever answers what's going on out here."

"10-4, Unit 86. Watch yourself."

At least Hal wasn't still mad at her from the other day when Janine and this Cindy chick bugging him.

And that Cindy never showed back up. Strange . . .

Helen tossed the mike inside and drew her weapon before starting towards the current-infused building, Clancy on her heels. Her hair felt like it was sticking straight up with all the static electricity the closer they crept. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched the wall, feeling foolish. Maybe if it shocked the hell out of them . . .

Only a slight tickle. Nothing else.

Damn. Looks like they were going in after all.

"You think Stantz's crazy? Well, going in here like this can't rank too high on the intelligence list," Clancy complained, eyes alert, as they headed towards a backdoor.

Helen couldn't argue with him there.

* * *

"I thought that's what the PKE meter read. Some sort of electrical current that the ghosts emit?" Winston asked as he painstakingly drove through traffic.

"It does. But, whatever this is has managed to corral extra power – either static or electrical current or both – and it's playing havoc with the equipment," Egon studied the PKE meter, messing with the knobs and apparently unhappy with the results.

"Even this far away?" Ray asked.

"Even this far away."

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I enjoy the fact that New York's finest has asked for our help," Peter turned around in the seat and looked at Ray. "But, don't tell Helen I said that."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Ray answered distractedly, trying to think of what entities would be attracted to current of any kind. And moan about it, according to the dispatcher that called the station.

Although, just the mention of her name made him want to grin like an idiot.

"C'mon! Get outta the way!" Winston yelled in frustration. Their destination was just a block away. In fact, he could pretty much see it. But, traffic was typical New York, and he had to lay down on the horn, despite the siren wailing over their heads.

Egon actually tossed his PKE meter aside. "I think it's fried."

"So? We go in without your trusty meter." Peter said flippantly.

"That's not all we might be without."

"I hate it when you say that," Winston muttered.

Ray glanced at the blonde scientist. "The proton packs. Mixed with whatever type of electricity this is . . ."

"We could blow the entire island off the map. Maybe."

"I hate those maybes," Peter mumbled as Winston ground to a stop.

They all climbed out and took a moment to study the building. It was a non-descript manufacturing facility, several decades old judging by the state of disrepair. A blockade had already been set up, and gawkers had trickled outside to check out what was going on. Inside the blockade were three police cars, but the rest of the force appeared to be nervously patrolling the parameter around the large concrete building.

That appeared to be shimmering in the sunlight. And not _just_ from the sunlight.

"Tell me that's my eyes playing tricks on me?" Peter said as he hefted the proton pack on his back.

"I don't think we're that lucky," Ray added.

"Guys! Guys! I'm glad you're here! Mike Rodgers. There's been shots fired, and four – maybe five – of ours are inside." And Officer Rodgers looked a little perplexed.

Almost as if to prove Rodgers right, a few shots – sound muffled – echoed from inside. By now, the crowd was used to it and just murmured in response. The police officers looked more nervous.

"We don't have contact with them. Whatever . . . well, whatever this is has all transmissions from inside garbled at best."

"What are they shooting at, I wonder?" Winston asked.

"I imagine whatever is causing the building to glow like a light bulb," Peter said.

"These officers – they got past this energy field?" Egon asked Mike.

Mike removed his cap and scratched his head. "That's the weird thing. It looks like it'd shock the hell outta you. But, they just walk right through."

"Static electricity," Egon thought aloud.

"That's good," Ray nodded.

"It is?" Winston asked.

Egon nodded. "At least, for the proton packs. Low stream should keep us in the safe zone."

"But, regular electrical current? Now, _that's_ another story," Ray added.

"Glad that's settled," Winston said sarcastically. "But, no one has asked the most important question here."

Peter cocked his head. "Which is . . ."

"Just how are we going to keep from getting shot ourselves?" Winston said, trying to figure out why he's the only one that thought of it.

Scary thought, indeed, that he was the only sane one in the bunch.

The other three looked at each other. "We're the good guys, Winston," Peter said, as if Winston should've realized this fact. "We'll just keep our heads low and check it out. Announce ourselves in a loud, clear voice." He grinned. "Now, tallyho!"

All Winston could do was follow. Gun fire always made him jittery.

They crossed the police barrier and filed past the empty police cruisers. Egon had his PKE meter back out.

"Thought it was toast," Winston said, eyes and ears alert.

"Now that I'm sure it's static electricity, I'm adjusting the settings accordingly.

"Guess they belong to the ones who went inside," Peter mumbled, motioning towards the cars, one with doors still open. "What did the Rodgers guy say? Five or six of their people are in there?"

"One gun times 16 bullets times six police officers . . ." Winston pointed out.

"They're just scared," Peter pooh-poohed as they filed by. "Don't worry about it. We're not worried. Are we Ray?"

No answer.

"Ray?"

* * *

Ray stared at the number stenciled in black letters on the car.

**Unit 86**.

So, she was here somewhere. And, it wasn't outside, either, where it was relatively safe. Nope, it was inside. Where something was harnessing static electricity for God-knows-what and weapons were being fired at an alarming rate and . . .

Ray shook his head once to clear his brain. Those thoughts will get him no where. His job – their job - was to get rid of this creature, or at least make it cease and desist. Helen was a pro. She knew her job. She could take care of herself. He had that much confidence in her.

Still didn't make the knot in his stomach feel any better.

Adjusting the proton pack on his back, he realized the others were almost at the building and hurried to follow, Peter motioning for him. Egon was studying the shimmering building up close, his nose almost touching it, Winston looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than here.

Slowly, Egon reached out and put his palm on the building. A crackling noise – like someone who shuffled their feet on the carpet touching metal – then nothing.

He shrugged. "Yep. It's static."

"Well, glad that's confirmed. So . . .do we know anything else for sure?" Peter asked.

A moaning from the windows up high, some of them busted out – from the ghost or already, they didn't know.

_I . . . want . . . . him . . .noooowwwwww . . ._

"Someone's not happy," Peter said, looking up. "So, now what? Split up?"

"I say we stay together. For now," Winston said. "Fewer single targets walking around. And, we can keep up with each other better." Meaning: _he_ could keep up with _them_. They'd wind up getting their fool heads shot off.

"You first, Winston. Since, you're our expert on gunfire and all," Peter said.

Winston shot him a dirty look.

"What?" Peter asked, all innocence.

But, Winston went on ahead towards the front door, proton pack ready.

"Hey, Ray, you're mighty quiet about all this," Peter whispered. He had a tendency to jabber when he was nervous. Although he'd never admit it.

"Helen's in there," Ray said quietly as he followed.

All Peter did was turn his head to look at Ray over his shoulder.

Ray met his gaze evenly.

Winston paused at the front doors, which were really just two old wooden doors. They were wide open, and the darkness inside was eerily thicker than one would think.

The moaning was louder here.

_He . . . did . . . this . . . HE . . . DID . . . THIS . . ._

But, no more gunfire, at least not in the last few minutes.

And, there was no sign of any of the officers trapped inside.

Winston took a deep breath. "Ready?"

"Anytime you are," Peter answered breezily.


	25. New York's Finest

"The sorry bastard _shot_ me! I can't believe he did it!" Clancy bellowed. "_Owww_! _Shit_, Stephenson . . . that hurts like bloody _hell_!"

Helen flinched as gunfire erupted around the concrete barrier they were crouched behind, spraying them with flecks of rock. The best cover they could find. Her heart pounding in her ears, she wondered if she would be deaf. "I . . . I don't think it's him doing the shooting. Exactly. Now, hand me your belt."

"I'm bleeding out of my fucking leg, and you want my _belt_?" Clancy had sweat rolling down his face, and she knew he was in pain. But, there was nothing she could do about that.

"For a tourniquet. No shut up and give me your belt." Helen's voice was calm, but inside, she was reeling.

"Good idea," Manfred whispered behind her.

"Shut up!" she hissed as Clancy huffed and puffed to take off his belt. "If you had told us he was there shooting at anything that moved, we wouldn't even _be_ here!"

"I didn't know you were there!" Manfred protested, his eyes wide with fear. "Plus, I didn't think he'd actually _do_ it, either . . ."

"Lebowitz is a prick, but I don't think he'd shoot at us. _If_ he knew what he was doing," Helen muttered. "This is going to hurt, Clancy."

He steeled himself, holding his wounded leg. "Just do it and get it over with," he said through clinched teeth.

As gingerly as she could, she put the belt under his leg and tightened it. Clancy sucked air, but didn't yell out.

Tough old bastard.

When she was done, she collapsed next to her injured partner. "Well, announcing ourselves didn't get us anywhere," she mumbled.

"I didn't expect Lebowitz to be floating a foot of the floor shooting up the place, either," Clancy hissed. "Now, tell us exactly what happened, Manfred."

Manfred was only too glad to share. "Lebowitz and me, we busted in here, and there wasn't anything. Nobody. Quiet like. Then, then, this . . . _thing_ came down from the ceiling and grabbed Lebowitz. I . . . I shot at it, but it had him. Almost like it was . . . was taking him over or something." Manfred's eyes looked wild.

Helen couldn't blame him. "And?"

At this point, Manfred didn't care if he looked like an idiot, not as scared as he was. "They two of them – Lebowitz and this thing – floated to the middle of the room over there. And, it started saying something about 'bring him here' and 'do as I say'."

"Lebowitz was doing the talking?" Helen said, turning around and risked another peek over the barrier. Sure enough, Lebowitz was still there suspended above the ground, a shiny glow to his eyes. Whatever seemed to be controlling him was swirling about the ceiling, reaching down every so often to nudge Lebowitz, almost like a puppet.

He spotted her, and the thing made him raise the gun.

_Bring . . . him . . . to . . .me . . ._echoed from the ceiling.

Helen ducked before he fired, spraying them all with dust.

"Not Lebowitz! That _thing_!" Manfred's voice trembled as he pointed towards the ceiling. "What in holy hell _is it_?"

"Class Five. Maybe," Helen muttered, her mind racing for a good outcome to this situation.

"Huh?" Clancy asked.

Helen shook her head impatiently. "Listen, we've got to get you out of here."

"Good luck with that," Clancy griped. "Every time we move for the exit," he motioned across twenty yards of open space towards the hallway door, "Lebowitz opens fire. I'll be _damned_ if he gets me again. . ."

"You're OK!" a new voice whispered hoarsely.

Helen and Clancy pulled their weapons, and Manfred shrieked like a little girl.

Helen lowered her gun first. "Jesus, Drew! You scared the shit outta us!"

The rather large black man grinned at her, then turned to her partner. "Nice day to get popped by a psycho, huh, Clancy, my man?"

Clancy muttered something that sounded a lot like 'up yours.'

"Where's Spots?"

"He was outside talking to dispatch. Lucky bastard," Drew muttered.

Helen always liked Drew. "Where'd you come from?"

Drew pointed back where he had come from, his large frame appearing uncomfortable crouched down with the rest of them. "Damn concrete stretches almost to the other side of the room. Thanks to _Lebowitz _here," he raised his voice loud enough that more shots rang out in their direction, "I'm going to slump like this for a week!" Another grin. "I always hated that son-of-a-bitch."

For once, Manfred didn't take up for his partner.

They were quiet for a moment – all except for the popping noises and the rushing sound of the otherworldly wind rustling empty boxes across the cavernous room.

"So . . . any ideas?" Manfred asked, hopeful optimism in his voice.

"I'd shoot him if I could. Didn't work," Clancy shifted and flinched. "Bullets just ping offa him like he's got on some sort of clear armor on or something. That thing on the ceiling swoops down, and it's like a barrier."

"Guns, worthless. Check," Drew said. "We could tackle him?"

"Who says we won't glance off him like the bullets did?" Helen asked, hoping she made sense. _None_ of this made sense.

"Let's see . . ." Drew popped up over the barrier, gun drawn and fired his weapon three times.

Manfred didn't even protest.

"That thing swoops down in time to deflect," Drew said calmly as he crouched back down to safety, more of Lebowitz's bullets plunking into the concrete on the other side. "He's not covered constantly."

Helen stared at him, huffing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. "This doesn't . . . I don't know . . . seem _strange_ to you? Just a bit."

Drew blinked once. "Well, yeah. But, hell, isn't it _great_?"

Helen almost asked him if he could see himself as a Ghostbuster. He had the attitude for it, that was for damn sure. "So . . . a diversion's in order, then?"

"I gotta know something . . . does that retard out there carry more than one weapon?" Clancy interrupted her random thoughts.

They all looked at Manfred, who finally realized they were talking to him as he fidgeted on the dirty concrete floor. "Uh . . . no. But, he does carry an extra clip, just like the rest of us."

"Hasn't he fired that freakin' gun more than 32 times?" Clancy asked annoyingly. "Because I think he has. And, I think that black bastard blob up there is supplying him with bullets."

Helen didn't think of that. By the stricken look on her face, Clancy knew she hadn't.

"We could be stuck here forever!" There was a hint of panic in Manfred's voice.

"Keep your panties, on, Manny. We'll get out of this," Drew said. "And, I have another question."

"If it's bad news, we don't want to know," Helen said, half-joking.

"Why doesn't it get us? Why just Lebowitz?" Drew cocked his head, deep in thought.

Manfred looked like he might bolt, despite the danger. "You mean . . . swoop down and . . . and _possess_ _us_?" He practically squeaked at the end.

A voice from nearby. "Just stay put, it won't hurt you! Unless you go out there!"

All heads jerked towards the voice. It was coming towards the corridor where Helen and Clancy had crept before Clancy was shot.

"_Egon_! What the hell took you so long?" Helen asked. Finally! Maybe _someone_ could do _something_!

Drew grinned. "The Calvary's arrived, folks!"

A flurry of bullets had them all scrambling for cover.

"Traffic," Egon answered.

"You alright?" Ray called out. Helen could hear the worry in his voice.

Great.

She could barely make them out in the darkened doorway, crouched just inside. She kept her answer clinical. No need to worry him anymore than he was. "We've got one down- Clancy. Lebowitz shot him in the leg."

Another flurry of bullets that had Drew cussing like a sailor.

"I take it, that's Lebowitz?" A different voice. Peter.

"It is, but . . . it's not." Helen called out. "If you get my drift."

"How many more over there?" Winston said.

"Me, Clancy, Manfred and Drew."

"That it?"

"As far as we know."

"Tell me what happened – short version," Egon said, getting to the point.

So, Helen did, Manfred filling in the blanks. They told them about the bullets and the ghostlike apparition only drifting down when necessary and their guns being useless.

"What _is_ it?" Drew finally asked

"We don't know," Egon answered honestly. "But, we better get you out of there before we take care of it."

"Imaginary bullets, remember?" Drew mocked. "If we even stick a finger over this barrier, Lebowitz busts a gut to fire at us. Just hit him with those proton thingies and get it over with."

"It'll kill him." Ray said.

"So?" Drew shrugged.

Manfred shot him a dirty look.

Helen stifled a snort.

* * *

Ray could see her huddled on her knees next to Clancy.

She wasn't hurt. That had to count for something.

He risked another glance out the door.

Sure enough, there was this Lebowitz, hovering a few inches off the floor.

Ray had never met the guy, but he assumed his eyes didn't glow like that on their own. And, those glowing eyes locked in on him just as black smoke darted from the ceiling down to the man.

Ray ducked back against the wall as more fire erupted.

"Don't rile him, Ray! Jeez!" Peter said.

Ray's own eyes were wide. "It made him do it. Just came out of the ceiling."

"And, those bullets are some sort of manifestation of its power," Egon added.

"Worse than hollow points?" Winston asked.

"Much," Egon added, studying his PKE meter, which jumped with each surreal bullet that was fired.

Ray's mind was churning. There had to be a good ending to this. "Why doesn't one of us go around to the back? Distract that thing long enough to get Lebowitz away?"

"It moves too fast," Peter said.

"I think Ray might be on to something," Egon said, thinking himself. "But, it can't be one of us."

Ray didn't like the sound of that.

"We need all of us together. The power on this thing is off the scale. If we're spread out, it might not be as effective."

Peter stuck out his thumb towards the others.

Ray's eyes widened. "No _way_! Not in a million _years_!" he protested, a little louder than he should have. More shots rang out, making them duck again.

"It _is_ her job," Peter said.

Ray couldn't think of enough words to protest. They all died in his mouth.

Egon pursed his lips in thought. "They're going to have to tackle Lebowitz. This will have to be timed just right." He ticked it off on his fingers. "Diversion, which distracts the Five. It floats back up to the ceiling just in time for someone to tackle Lebowitz to get him out of the way. . ."

"Then, we blast 'em!" Winston said enthusiastically.

"Right," Egon nodded. "But if any of it goes wrong . . ."

"Hell, it's all we've got. Let's run it by New York's finest out there and let them decide who'll be bait," Peter said nonchalantly.

Ray shot him a dirty look. "She's _not_ going out there," he said stubbornly. "She's just _not_."

"Let them work it out! Hey! We've got a plan!" Winston called out.


	26. Yo' Mama is So Ugly

Fifteen chapters left - counting this one.

* * *

"Well, Clancy's out. For obvious reasons," Drew pointed out calmly and sensibly.

Helen knew why he was so popular. Anyone that was cool in a crisis was needed on the force. And she did not feel calm, although she tried her best to fake it.

They looked at Manfred, who looked a little shell shocked before he frantically started shaking his head.

"Dude! He's _your_ partner! _You_ tackle him!" Drew bullied.

"Uh-uh! I'm _not_ going out there! What if I freeze? What if he shoots me?"

And Manfred was obviously _not _one to have around in a crisis.

She and Drew looked at each other. "Looks like it's just me and you, Slick."

Helen's conscious tugged at the mention of the nickname Ivan always used. He would've lapped this up.

"You be the diversion. Run towards the door. Back and forth if you have to. I'll go to the other end of this and tackle him once you got him distracted." Helen blurted it out.

Drew looked at her like she was crazy. "Girl, you think you're goin' tackle that man by yourself?"

"You used to play football professionally, right?"

"Uh . . . right."

"You can bob and weave better than me. All I gotta do is run straight for him."

Drew was silent. "Yeah, I see your point." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm thinking Mr. Ghostbuster you've been dallying with ain't gonna like it, though."

Shit. Drew was right.

Helen squared her shoulders and refused to think about it. "He does this every damn day."

"Don't be all trying to get him back for getting hurt the other day . . ." Clancy started from behind her.

Helen whirled around. "I am _not_! I'm just doing my job!"

Drew held up a hand to placate her. "Fine, fine. Let's tell them the plan."

* * *

"_What?_"

They shushed Ray to hear Drew tell them the rest of it.

Ray sulked in silence. An idea! "Look! Let me do it! Get her over here with the proton pack and . . ."

Peter looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "She can't get over here, anyway."

"Besides, we need you. You're the pro at this, not her," Egon pointed out.

Ray still didn't have to like it, although he knew they were right. "But, but what about the other guy? Manfred?"

"Chicken," Peter said sensibly.

"Very professional, Peter," Egon added dryly.

"They have no choice, Ray," Winston explained patiently.

Ray wasn't to be deterred. Maybe if he talked long enough, they'd change their minds. "But . . ."

"Ray?"

It was Helen's voice, managing to pierce through his panic.

"Ray, I've got to do this." Her voice had a small tremor, but she sounded confident.

More confident than he felt.

Ray rubbed his hand over his face. "I don't have to like it."

"I know you don't." A hint of amusement in her voice.

Good Lord, how could that woman be _amused_ at a time like this? She could die! Get shot! Or that thing could get her, and she could wind up like Lebowitz, some drone . . .

He glanced back out the door. She hadn't gone yet, but she was . . . what the …?

He opened his mouth to ask why the hell she leaving her only method of fighting back sitting on the floor at Clancey's feet.

"You know she can't take her gun," Egon's was firm, any of Ray's protests dying in his throat. "If she winds up like that other officer, she won't have any weapon to use against the rest of us."

They were right. Again.

Frustrated didn't even begin to describe how Ray felt.

Now, she couldn't fight back. And they may or may not be able to protect her. And, that was a long way she had to run to even get to Lebowitz. What if the distraction didn't work?

She could be hurt. Or paralyzed. Or comatose for life or . . .

Ray knew his mind was running away with him, but it all boiled down to one little truth.

What would I do if something happened to her?

It hit him like a blow from a Class Twelve. If they existed.

He sucked in a breath, not even noticing the others watching him with worried expressions on their faces.

She better still be there . . .

He moved over as close as he dared to the edge of the door and called out. "Helen?"

A pause. "I'm right here, Ray."

He didn't dare look around the doorway to see her. Maybe for the last time. Planning their last moves. Moves that may get her killed.

He shut his eyes against the image.

And said the words without realizing that's what he wanted to say.

"I . . . love you."

* * *

Maybe it was the stressful situation or the words themselves, but Helen was speechless.

She hadn't seen him in years, he pops up a month ago, and he . . . loves her?

_Me? Stubborn, prickly, smart-ass me?_

"He picked a helluva time to have this conversation, didn't he?" Clancy grumbled.

No kiddin'.

"Well? Answer the man!" Drew said, clearly enjoying himself.

He loves me . . .

She opened her mouth to respond just as Lebowitz fired another volley at them.

"Shit! You better get going before we piss off the bastard even more!" Drew changed his mind.

He practically shoved her in the opposite direction. She was so addled, she did as she was told.

That's right. Gotta tackle Lebowitz. Run out in the open like an idiot, hope Drew can taunt him enough to keep him from noticing and . . .BAM!

It would be satisfying to clean his clock. Maybe ram her knee in his groin for good measure.

_I hope this works . . . I hope we all get out of here . . . and just what is that damn thing on the ceiling . . ._

As she crept to the other end of the barrier and waited for her cue from Drew, she realized she didn't answer Ray.

"Hey!" Drew's voice was loud. "Yo' mama is so ugly . . ."

Helen risked a peek around the barrier. The blob – and Lebowitz – were poised to answer Drew's taunts with their usual volley.

Taking a deep breath, she rose to her feet and took off as if her life depended on it.

* * *

It was like watching a movie. A bad movie that you had already figured out the next scene. Or a trainwreck. You knew what was going to happen, but there was nothing you could do about it. But watch it all unfold in horror.

It all happened so fast. Drew's taunts. Lebowitz managing to fire a couple of fake rounds. Drew pouncing back behind the concrete barrier. The ghost floating back towards the ceiling.

And Helen. There she was, almost like the days she ran track in high school, arms pumping, feet pounding the concrete.

As they all peeked around the doorway, Ray wanted to take a moment to wipe his sweaty palms, but didn't dare. They would only have a moment to fire.

Helen leaped at the last second, hoping to catch Lebowitz by the waist.

Wham!

They both rolled across the floor, landing in a heap near the wall.

The manifestation on the ceiling screamed in protest.

"Hot damn, it _worked_!" Peter exclaimed as they raced into the open.

So far . . .

They all opened fire, aiming towards the ceiling.

* * *

For a moment, she couldn't catch her breath. All she could do was just lay there, practically on top of Lebowitz –asshole will love that! – as the remainder of the battle went on over head.

She knew she should probably get out of the way, drag Lebowitz's sorry ass with her. But, until her lungs refilled with oxygen, she just curled into a ball, making herself as small a target as possible, as bright lights shot through the air above her. More screaming – she thought from the thing up there.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the glare, wanting to put her hands over her ears against the noise.

So far, Lebowitz hadn't moved.

Then . . . nothing. No more noise. No more crackling sounds – from the static or the proton packs. Cautiously, she opened her eyes.

It was dark as rip in there.

Drew almost picked her up off the floor. "Girl, you should've been on the offensive line! We could've knocked 'em dead! Broke every record in the NFL."

Holy crap, they did it . . .

Immediately, it was pandemonium.

The rest of the force outside filed in the dark room, including paramedics and fire fighters.

Someone hit the lights, and the fluorescent bulbs hummed to life.

Orders were barked and carried out, and all Helen could do was stand their dumbly and watch.

They did it . . .

It was the first time she realized she honestly didn't think they would all make it.

Drew nudged her with his arm as Lebowitz, now with an oxygen mask around his mouth courtesy of the paramedics on the scene, groggily opened his eyes. "Didn't seem to harm the bastard a bit. Too bad."

Helen blinked.

Clancy!

Paramedics were also huddled around the concrete wall they found shelter behind. Helen took a step in that direction.

"He'll be alright. Just a flesh wound. And Lord knows, he's got enough of that," Drew said, taking her arm. "Just let 'em work. You'll only get in the way."

Helen stared at Drew's hand on her arm dumbly.

"You know, I might just get on with those Ghostbusters. Seems like a nifty kind of job."

That's exactly what Ivan had said the night before he'd been killed.

And, Ray thought it was a nifty job, too, and it landed him in traction more often than not.

She glanced up. The guys were no where to be found. But, then again, it hadn't gotten extremely busy in here in a heartbeat.

One problem at a time, Stephenson . . .

She shook Drew's hand off, making her way across the now-crowded floor.

She'd be damned if she'd leave her partner to fend for himself again.


	27. Unfinished Business

"Shit, Helen, don't be such a hard ass. The paramedic guy said I'll live," Clancy protested as they wheeled him out the door towards the ambulance.

Helen didn't realize they'd been in there so long. The sun had almost set, only a few streaks of light in the summer sky. The crowds that had gathered had finally started to disperse. The show was over.

"Shut up," Helen argued as she scurried along with the paramedics. Clancy had gotten some of his color back now that a temporary dressing had been put on his leg. Probably pain meds, too.

They loaded Clancy on the ambulance, and Helen started to climb inside.

"Hell, no! That's the last thing I need! A bossy woman!" Clancy roared.

"You should be used to that by now," Helen said, although she stopped, hands on the door frame, before she hoisted herself inside.

"I'll probably be released later tonight. Don't be going through all this fuss. My wife'll be doin' enough of that as is!" Clancy knew he had her.

"I don't know . . ."

Clancy's expression softened. "I'm not Ivan, sug. Now, go home. Get some rest. I'll be back in couple of days aggravating the stew outta you." He reached out and patted her on the hand that was still griping the door frame.

Is that why she was acting like this? Because she didn't want to lose another partner? Didn't want to leave another one to fend for himself?

Lord, Venkman could have a field day in her brain right now.

"Stephenson . . ."  
Helen jumped at the sound of her name.

Drew held up his hands in protest. "Honey, you're jumpier than a cat in a room full of rabid dogs."

"She's had a long day," Clancy called out good-naturedly as the paramedics finished settling him in the rig.

"Boy, what's he on? We outta give him some of that stuff daily," Drew whispered just loud enough for Clancy to hear.

Helen wasn't in the mood for levity. "What's wrong now, Drew?"

Drew, highly amused, rocked back on his heels. "I think you have some unfinished business to take care of."

"Huh?" she swiped a strand of hair off her forehead. She didn't want any more unfinished business. What she wouldn't give for a long, hot bubble bath right now . . .

Drew motioned towards Ecto-1 parked across the curb a few yards away. The guys were busily putting up their equipment, a few of the police still patrolling stopping by to speak.

"Oh . . . right."

Drew cocked his head, studying her puzzled expression. "Don't tell me you don't . . . well . . ."

"She sure as hell better love him. He's been boning her for two weeks now!" Clancy called out gleefully before the paramedic shut the door, shaking his head and smiling. Helen didn't have a chance to throw a smart comment back at him before the ambulance roared away, sirens quiet, but lights on.

"You look mighty unhappy there, Lt. Stephenson," Drew said in mock sterness, his arms folded across his broad chest.

"I'm _not_ unhappy." Far from it. In fact, now that she had time to think about it, she realized just how happy his words made her. "Just . . ." _Just what the hell am I?_ "Scared. I guess." She blurted it out without thinking.

It had just been that kind of week.

Drew's laughter made several people milling about turn to see what was so funny. "You? _Scared_?"

Helen was not amused. "Just . . . forget it. OK? How's Lebowitz?" She changed the subject, hoping to deter Drew from any more prying questions.

Drew lost some of his jubilance. "He's . . . a little spacey. I think it'll be awhile before he comes back."

Good.

"What about Manfred?"

Drew rolled his eyes. "He's strutting around like he single-handedly saved us all."

Helen had to roll her eyes, too. "Figures."

Some of the merriment returned to Drew's face. "I think you've been alone too long, Stephenson. You forget how much fun being in love can be."

"Aren't we a little too old for that? Fuzzy feelings and all that?" Helen had to ask.

Drew grinned. "I've been married for seven years. The fuzzy feelings may change, but they're still there. Even better now, if you ask me."

"No details, please." Helen held up her hands to get him to stop. "I've got to do my report."

"Scram. You can give your report to the captain in the morning."

Helen sighed. "You're going to find a hole in all my excuses, aren't you?"

"Damn right, girl! Now, I better get home before my lovely wife forgets those fuzzy feelings and brains me with a frying pan."

"I think I'd like your wife," Helen smirked.

"You two are cut from the same cloth." With that, Drew disappeared in the dwindling crowd.

So? She was scared. It was easy to say that she was not emotionally involved – just dabbling between the sheets perhaps – until he said those words to her.

But, that would be lying to herself. She knew it. Hell, even Drew knew it!

And, she didn't doubt he meant it. Sure, Ray was a seat-of-the-pants kinda guy, but he was always honest.

Helen pulled off her police hat and tucked it underneath her arm, scanning the crowd, her mind still humming along. Ecto-1 was still parked illegally where it was earlier. Helen didn't see the other three, but Ray was standing right beside it, watching her. Waiting on her to put on her big girl panties and come over there.

He smiled, a little unsurely.

Her heart flipped flopped in her chest, some of her apprehension melting away.

Dammit.

Sure, she should've known she was in trouble awhile back. Maybe it was when he found her after Ivan's funeral. Or maybe when he was standing outside the precinct waiting on her that day. The night at Rocco's shitbag strip club when he offered her a place to stay, perhaps.

Or maybe it went as far back as when he burned her bicycle and his parents' garage. Maybe she was just that clueless.

Her feet started walking in his direction.

* * *

It didn't bother Ray that she hadn't said two words to him since he decided to spout his inner most feelings right in the middle of a bust.

He didn't regret saying it, either.

All that mattered was she was OK. No one had died. No one was mortally wounded. Except for her partner, everything was unscathed.

Her partner's gunshot wound . . .

Ray's brow furrowed in thought. First, Ivan. Now, Clancy.

No wonder she seemed preoccupied, looking a little forlorn as the ambulance roared away and Drew wandered off.

His first instinct was to go to her, but he knew that wasn't what needed to be done. She didn't need to be crowded.

She'd come to him of her own accord. Whether he liked it or not.

It couldn't say he wasn't relieved when she started in his direction.

She stopped right in front of him, her tired eyes searching his own.

He wondered what she saw. A pudgy occultist who rarely dated, let alone knew exactly what to say to a woman?

Or . . . something else. Something else entirely different.

In the end, Ray couldn't help himself. He had to break the silence. It was killing him.

"For a moment, I thought you were going to tie yourself to that ambulance."

Helen chuckled weakly and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. "He informed me I had other obligations."

"He did? To who?"

One side of Helen's lips turned up in a half-smile. "To the man who's been boning me for the last two weeks."

Ray knew he blushed. "I . . . I didn't know Clancy even liked me."

"Clancy likes everyone right now. Pain meds. He'll be just fine. At least, that's what everyone keeps saying." Helen said it like she was trying to convince herself of that, looking away as she spoke.

At least he knew his earlier suspicions had been correct. He put his hand gently on the side of her cheek, making her look at him. "You better not be blaming yourself for that. You didn't know what was going on in there." He was surprised to see her eyes well.

"I know. I keep running the woulda-couldas through my head. And we did nothing wrong. Everything by the book. And he . . . well, he _still_ got shot." She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"It could've been you." She could've been the one, lying there in her own blood, maybe shot somewhere worse than in the leg . . .

Just the thought of it hurt worse than his broken ribs ever could.

She watched him as he tried his best to squelch those thoughts. He cleared his throat nervously. "Those woulda-couldas get you every time."

He knew she could tell, could see the emotions flit across his eyes. It could've been that she was just that good of an investigator, trained to notice such subtle nuances. Or maybe they had just gotten to be that close.

He liked to think it was the latter.

He was momentarily startled when she closed the short distance between them, wrapping her arms around him and laying her cheek against his chest. But, it didn't take him long to recover, returning the embrace, her hair tickling his nose as he pressed his lips to it.

"I love you, too," she said softly.

Although she couldn't see it, he smiled. "I never doubted it."


	28. Police Discount

"I like the orange one better," Janine said, cocking her head and studying the blue cocktail dress Helen was wearing with a disapproving purse to her lips.

Helen bit her tongue before she could say, 'you would.' Instead, she tugged at the hem. "I'm not even that tall, and this thing is about to expose my crack to the world!" She darted back in the dressing room door to take it off, pronto.

"It's the style, hon. When was the last time you shopped, anyway?"

"Probably during the Carter years." Helen could hear Janine blow a bubble with her gum, popping it loudly.

"I guess you've never had any need to dress up to be a police officer, huh? No dances or balls or anything like that?"

Helen studied the last dress she hadn't yet tried on. Sleeveless and form fitting. Just like the rest of them. It did look a tad bit longer. And cheaper, too. Who ever would've guessed, since there was more fabric to it than the rest of them? "Well, yeah. But, I usually wear my dress uniform with the skirt. I don't see why it won't work for tomorrow night either." She really knew she couldn't get away with it, but wanted to bait Janine, anyway. It was so easy to do.

"Don't be such a cheapskate, Helen. You just want to get the police discount."

Helen couldn't help but chuckle as she tugged the dress over her head and unlatched the door. "Here, zip this."

Janine complied, popping another bubble. "I still can't believe he's taking you to LaShea's. I didn't know he got paid enough to even afford an appetizer there."

Helen studied her reflection in the five-way mirror of the department store, pulling up on the bodice as she did. At least it came to just above her knee. _Not bad . . ._ "I don't think they'd even give police discounts. Have you ever eaten there?"

An audible sigh. "Nope. I'd like to, though. Maybe someday."

Helen glanced over at Janine sitting primly in a chair looking just a tad wistful. Sure, the woman had practically volunteered to haul her butt to the mall to buy a dress, but Helen wasn't sure if they were _that_ close. At least close enough to mention who was _obviously_ on her mind.

Oh, hell, why not?

"He'll come to his senses one day. I guess I'll need to buy shoes, too, don't you think?" Helen innocently studied her bare feet in the mirror, standing on tip toes to decide to see if she could tell what sort of height she needed.

Janine shot her a sharp look as she pulled her ever-present nail file out of her tiny little purse.

"Don't you have some of those stripper shoes left over somewhere?"

"Left all that stuff behind. Glad to." Hmmmm, she didn't want to talk about Egon, apparently . . .

"You'll need jewelry, too. I might have some stuff you can use."

"I . . . er . . . I got some stuff. But, thanks, though." Helen wasn't quite sure if hers and Janine's styles meshed well.

Janine laid down her file. "So, you're going with that one?"

Helen turned around and looked down at it. "Well . . . yeah? Why not? My ass doesn't hang out the back, and the price tag is decent."

"But it's so . . . so _black_! And dull!"

"I just don't think I could pull off that orange one. Or the yellow with the blue spots. You could pull those off better than me."

Janine shrugged. "Hey, it doesn't matter to me. And, I imagine Ray won't care, either. You could probably show up in flour sack, and he'd think you were just beautiful."

Helen returned to the dressing room, mostly to hide the fact that she was grinning like an idiot. "He is rather easy to please."

"Spare the details."

"I'm not talking about _that_!"

"In case you are, maybe you should throw that dress on the floor and see how good it looks laying there. Because you won't be in it long."

OK, now she was blushing as she hung the dress carefully on the hangar. And, she wisely kept her mouth shut.

Thankfully, Janine changed the subject. "You oughta get your make-up done. Your hair, too."

"What do you think I'm made out of? Twenties?" Helen pulled her T-shirt back over her head, tugging her hair out of the collar before she stepped into her jeans. "Besides, I have to work that day, so I'll just have time for a quick shower at the station. I'll just do my hair and make-up there." But, maybe a little more effort would be nice . . .

A tsking noise from Janine. "The man takes you to LaShea's, and you can't even get your nails done!"

Helen grabbed all the hangars and her purse. "It's just dinner and a show. And, he's not even paying for the orchestra tickets!"

"Dana's always trying to get Peter to one of those things." Janine helped her put the dresses she didn't want up to be distributed to their proper places by the store employees.

"Not in this century, I imagine," Helen said dryly. "What's the deal with those two, anyway?"

"It's a looonnnggg story."

"Are they dating?" Helen was genuinely curious.

Janine shrugged. "Off and on. Currently off. You ready for lunch? I'm starved!"

Helen could tell she wasn't going to get any more information out of her. She made a mental note to ask Ray.

They left the dressing room with her one dress. After trying on half the ones in the store, Helen was just relieved to find something she could live with. "I'm buying."

Janine proudly produced a credit card. "Not today! I've shanghaied a company credit card!"

Helen grinned. "Drinks all around!"

"You got that right!"

As they made their way to the cash registers, Janine said a little more solemnly. "I've got to tell you one thing, though."

Helen was digging in her purse, trying to figure out which credit card had the lowest balance for this. "What's that?" she said distractedly.

"You need to watch yourself. With Ray."

"I think I can handle him," she said, still rooting in her purse. Now where was that Visa . . .

"Those Ghostbusters'll break your heart every time, girl. Trust me."

Helen paused in her search. Sure, Janine had probably seen more women come and go through that fire house, but it seemed a strange thing to say. Especially about Ray. Was it another vague Egon reference? Or did Ray have more women trapeze through there than she thought?

Helen did not like the green-eyed monster that tugged at her heart.

But, before she could comment, Janine had changed the subject. "So, Chinese or Italian? I know this great little place that's only a few blocks away . . ."

Helen did what she thought was best. She let it go.

* * *

"_Stephenson_! The captain wants to see you! _On the double_! As in _NOW_!" Drew's voice boomed through the thin door of the tiny women's showers at the station. Really, just an afterthought addition to the rather large men's quarters.

Helen hastily put on her last hoop earring and cursed underneath her breath. Hell, she was already late! Their reservations were at 7, and she only had 30 minutes to get to the fire house, then they had to drive back across town . . .

"Did you hear me Helen?" Drew's voice just outside the women's locker room was loud enough to wake the dead.

"Can't it _wait_?" That man would be the death of her. Not only did Dean temporarily saddle her with Manfred of all people as a partner, but now he wanted her to tramp through the station house in front of all her co-workers she tried so hard to get them to consider her a fellow officer and not a woman to be ogled. . .

"Hell, no! You know Dean! Now, get your ass out here!"

"But, I'm off duty!" Helen gathered her clothes and toiletries strewn about. The few other women that used the place were sticklers for cleanliness.

"Take that up with him. Make him pay you overtime or somethin'." Drew was not to be deterred.

"Well . . . shit." Helen cursed. The last thing she wanted to do was flounce up to the captain's office. Not that he would care one way or the other how she was dressed. The other guys, however, most definitely would. That's why she had planned on escaping out the back door.

But, there was no way around it. If Dean wanted to see her, she had to go.

With one last hasty glance at her reflection – damn, girl, you do look pretty good – she gathered her bag and barged out the door so fast, it almost whacked Drew in the face.

"What in the world does he want?" Helen said, her mind going a mile a minute, trying to figure out how long this was going to take. Today of all days.

"Something to do with Clancy. Are you wearing perfume? Damn, don't tell me those are real diamonds in that bracelet?"

Helen rolled her eyes as they entered the bullpen, their name for the room with all the desks arranged for some sort of privacy for the officers and their investigations. That it was named for the male of the species never bothered Helen. 'Cow pen' just didn't have the same ring to it, anyway. "You act like you've never seen a woman in a dress."

"I've just never seen _you_ in a dress. And, may I say, hubba, hubba!"

"I'd hate to shoot you, Drew."

"With what? You gotta gun in those pointy heels of yours?"

"I'm carrying. You just can't see it."

"I bet that Ghostbuster of yours can find it."

"And, I bet that's none of your damn business," Helen said haughtily. Of course, the bullpen was busy this time of day with the shift change. Great. Just great.

Drew grinned. A grin that got even broader as the other men took a moment out of their busy day to watch Helen breeze by.

"Wow, Helen! The captain might just have his way with you . . ."

"Damn, girl, you clean up _nice_!"

"I bet you aren't wearing any underwear, either, are you?"

Helen ignored them. The door to the captain's office was in sight. She never took that sexual harassment stuff seriously, anyway. Only when whats-his-face cornered her, and then she took care of it herself.

Drew opened the door for her. "After you, m'lady."

"Go to hell."

Drew's laughter echoed down the hallway, even after the door was shut.

The captain's assistant was gone for the day, so Helen pulled the bodice of her dress up, tugged the hemline down, tossed her bags on the secretary's desk and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

She complied. Captain Dean was sitting at his always-cluttered desk, his tie lose about his desk. Helen figured he'd die there one day, slumped over all the paper. She did not envy him his job. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

He raised an eyebrow, but wisely kept silent. Dean wasn't the type to make off-color comments, anyway. "Ummm . . . excuse me?"

She looked at him skeptically. "You wanted to see me?"

"No. I didn't."

"But, Drew said . . ." She paused. Her eyes narrowed. _That dirty, rotten piece of . . _

A small smile eased the exhaustion always present on the captain's face. "Go easy on him, Stephenson."

She ground her teeth. "Sorry, sir." _When I get my hands on him . . ._

"Don't worry about it." He waved her off, returning to his files. "Just don't kill him here. Too much paperwork."

Helen stormed out of her superior's office, remembering to grab her bag. "_Drew McAlister, you dirty sneak, you!_"

She could hear him laughing across the room, along with several others. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "How else was I supposed to get you out here in that dress? And, might I say, girl, it was _well_ worth it!" Most whistles and catcalls.

She put her hand on her hip. "I'll get even, Drew. Just wait!" She glanced at the clock on the wall. _Shit_!

"I'll be counting the minutes," he called to her retreating figure. Several of the men admired her backside as she hurried by.

Helen glared at them all. "I bet you will."

"Have fun! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

She held her free hand up in the air, middle finger extended. More laughter.

She shook her head as she scurried to the parking lot, ignoring admiring glances from other officers.

After all, boys will be boys.

And, she was looking forward to tonight so much, nothing could get her down for long.

She stopped, her key in the ignition.

When was the last time she had something much to look forward to, anyway? Something frivolous? Exciting?

It had been years, that was for sure.

_My life's work to revenge my sister's death almost took another victim. Me._

She let the truck idle, her hands on the steering wheel. It was the first time that thought had ever occurred to her. She was focused so much on one thing in life, and she almost missed what was truly important. Friends. Family. Not living in the past.

She put the truck in gear. That all ends now.

* * *

From the pizza parlor across the street, he saw her waltz out of the precinct, obviously in a hurry.

Nicest thing I've seen her wear since The Rising Sun.

Just thinking about his once successful business that was now city property was enough to make him grind his teeth.

Sure, it wasn't a good idea to be out here. But, no one was paying him any attention, least of all Helen Stephenson. And, since Cindy was having such a hard time putting his little plan into motion, he took the opportunity to follow Helen around for awhile. See exactly what she was up to. What her schedule was like. Her interests.

And, what he discovered made him decide he may want to wait. Tweak his plans for her just a bit.

He laid a twenty down on the table and stood up as Helen's old truck roared onto the street.


	29. Sixteen

"You could take a taxi, you know." Peter had to put in his two-cents' worth. "I've seen junk yard heaps with more class than that truck of hers."

"I honestly don't think she cares. And, do you know how much cab fare across town is?" Ray's voice was muffled from underneath the towel he was using to dry his hair. Thanks to a call that lasted a little longer than they thought, he was running behind. Helen was due any minute.

Ray glanced at his watch. Actually, she was past due.

Peter kept right on talking.

"Do you know how much LaShea's is? And, they don't give police discounts, either."

"Well, we can't take Ecto," Ray said sensibly.

"Lord knows, we're not going to take a taxi on a run while you're gone," Peter added. "And, what are the valets going to say?"

Never one to really care one way or the other what people had to say, Ray could honestly say that thought had never crossed his mind. "We'll park a few blocks away."

"You have an answer for everything," Peter teased. "Having your woman pick you up for a date doesn't faze you a bit, does it?"

Ray colored, but stuck out his chin defiantly. "She's not _my_ woman. And, we're _not_ 16 anymore." _But_, _maybe Peter's right. . ._

Slimer sailed upstairs at top speed, Peter ducking just in time to keep from getting covered in green slime.

In his excitement, Slimer didn't even persist in his favorite pastime – aggravating Peter Venkman. He headed straight for Ray.

Ray also ducked. "Remember what we talked about, Slimer? I don't have time to take another shower." His voice was patient.

Peter rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you actually understand what the spud says."

Ray reached for his shirt. "What's up, little guy?"

More babbling.

"Really? She's here?. . .uh, huh . . . uh, huh . . . so, what did you think?"

Slimer's wolf whistle made Peter laugh.

"Even _I_ understand that!" He tossed Ray's suit coat at him. "If you don't hurry up, Romeo, I'm going to go downstairs and sweep her off her feet."

"Good luck with that," Ray said as he reached for his shoes. They looked cleaner than he remembered. He knew Peter – and Helen – better than that. _And just where is my tie? And, the tickets? _He muttered to himself, preoccupied, as he searched.

Peter sauntered out the door, leaving Ray with his frantic search. "Well, I'm going to at least ogle her until she smacks me."

* * *

"I finally found his shoes and shined them. They were _filthy_, I tell you! Just _filthy_! I bet he hadn't used them since when? The night that movie premiered?" Janine leaned on the edge of her desk, nail file moving faster than Helen thought possible.

"That sounds about right," Winston nodded, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. "At least you talked him out of that pea green suit."

"We really need to burn it," Egon added from his perch against the filing cabinets.

Helen almost felt like all of them were hanging around just to see them off. The only one missing was . . .

"Miss Stephenson, I declare, you are the sexiest thing I've seen all day." Peter sauntered down the stairs at a leisurely pace.

"You must not have gotten out much today." She shifted her weight to her other leg. _These heels may be the death of me._

"Ray'll be right down. Something about his tie. And the tickets."

"I told him I had the tickets down here!" Janine said, reaching on her desk and shaking the envelope. "But, just like a man, he never pays me any attention." She handed the envelope to Helen, and she stuck it in her little purse.

"Dr. Stantz has been in a state of never paying anyone any attention lately," Peter said lazily. "Unless your name is Helen Stephenson."

All Janine said was harrumph. "I still liked the orange dress better."

"I think she looks pretty classy myself," Winston added.

"Thanks," Helen smiled appreciatively, nervously fingering her necklace. Not accustomed to dressing up, she hated to admit she was a little self-conscious. "Trying to use a curling iron in a grungy bathroom has left me feeling a little ill-prepared."

"At least you did get your nails done." Janine – of course – would notice the French manicure.

Peter moved in for a closer look. "They do look a little lethal. You may want to watch it in certain . . . situations." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Helen was in too good of a mood to be annoyed. But, she did smack him with her bag.

"Ow!" He rubbed his arm. "What do you have in that thing? A brick?"

"A snub-nosed .38," Helen said primly.

"Who takes a .38 on a date?" Peter asked, genuinely curious.

"In this city, I don't blame her," Egon answered.

"You don't date women who carry because they'd shoot you before the date was over, Dr. V," Janine said cattily.

Helen laughed. And, God, it felt good to laugh and mean it!

* * *

Janine breezed past Peter and planted herself at the foot of the stairs. "Raymond Stantz, you're going to be late! Get down here, _now_!"

"Yes, mother," Peter mimicked.

"I'll take her gun and use it on you, buster," Janine pointed her finger at Peter.

"She will, too," Egon said solemnly.

Helen couldn't stop giggling and hid her mouth behind her hand to keep Janine from pointing her wrath at her.

Ray never was good at knotting a tie. Granted, he never had to wear one much, and the few times he did, there was someone around to do it right.

Sure, his fingers might've been a little shaky. But, it wasn't like he was _that_ nervous or anything. He was comfortable enough with Helen, especially after all they'd been through. Even in such a short amount of time. But, a real honest-to-goodness date!

He'd told Peter they weren't 16 anymore. But, maybe – just a little – he felt like it tonight

By the time Janine yelled up the stairs, he had about given up on the tie. Making sure he had his wallet and keys, he headed for the stairs, still trying to absently tie the stupid thing, Slimer right behind him.

Ray came to such an abrupt stop in the middle of the stairs, Slimer had to take evasive action to keep from slamming into his back. Sailing straight up out of the way, he babbled appreciatively to himself for keeping his promise to Ray.

Ray noticed none of it. All he saw was Helen. She was standing in the middle of the bay, laughing at something someone had said.

And she was beautiful.

Her hair done up in one of those complicated twists that probably only involved two bobby pins, revealing her lovely shoulders. Sure, he'd seen much more than that by now, but there was something about a woman's neck and shoulders . . .

And that dress! All Janine did was complain about it all week. Too drab. Too dull.

But, Ray had no complaints. None at all.

When she moved closer to Egon to inspect something he was working on, the skirt swished lightly against her legs, and Ray swallowed hard at the images that arose in his mind.

He really _was_ acting like he was 16!

And, she didn't need a cab. She needed a limo. Something regal. Something expensive. Because she looked like a million bucks.

"There you are! I thought you'd chickened out on us!" Peter said good-naturedly, not noticing his friend's discomfort. "Get down here and check out your date!"

Helen had been leaned over something Egon had taken apart as he explained it to her, but she looked up at him when Peter spoke.

And smiled.

At him.

How could he be so lucky?

In that instant, all Ray's frivolous concerns disappeared.

Somehow, he made it down the stairs, still fumbling with his tie, without tripping on his own two feet.

Helen tucked her purse underneath her arm and met him at the foot of the stairs. "Here. Let me."

Ray watched her as she expertly finished the job, focusing on the task at hand, a little furrow in-between her eyebrows as she concentrated. Of course, she was standing right in front of him, but even if she was across the room, he couldn't have been able to take his eyes off her.

Straightening his collar over the tie, she smiled, patting the knot on the tie once. "There." She met his eyes, eyes sparkling. "You clean up well, Dr. Stantz."

Ray knew he was supposed to say something in return, but was having a hard time getting his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth. "Oh . . . uh . . . thanks. You . . . you, too." _Dumb, dumb, dumb! _"I mean . . . you look wonderful. You really do."

"I sorta figured that's what you meant."

"OK, you two. Break it up!" Peter clapped his hands to get their attention. "The maitre de at LaShea's is going to void your reservation for tardiness!"

Helen stepped away from him, but he took her hand in his. She turned and smiled at him again, the tiny diamonds on her necklace reflecting what little light there was in the room, before they headed for the door.

He thought he'd melt into a puddle at her feet.

"I gave the tickets to her. I figured she'd have better luck with them," Janine said dryly, arms crossed over her chest.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, children!" Peter called out. "And, don't be back here before 2 – no - before 3! Or, you'll have to answer to Uncle Peter!"

They didn't even seem to hear him, but Helen did turn and wave as they walked outside.

Ray only had eyes for her.

"They're cute, don't you think?" Winston asked as the door slammed shut behind them. "Did you see the look on his face when he laid eyes on her?"

"I thought you guys were convinced she was bad news," Janine sassed. "I remember a little meeting about that not that long ago right over there." She motioned towards Peter's 'office' behind the file cabinets.

"You weren't all that happy with it either, if I remember correctly," Egon pointed out, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. The sides of his mouth threatened to pull upwards in a smile after Janine glared at him.

Boy, that woman was easy to annoy.

"Well, that Gambini guy isn't a factor anymore," Winston argued.

"And, she's seemed to loosen up a bit. Forget she's supposed to kill the guy to avenge her sister," Peter pointed out. "And, it's handy to have a cop around. You never know when we'll need police protection, and now we have it. In spades."

"Besides, Ray's happy. At least, more so than usual," Egon said.

"I would be, too, if I were getting a piece of . . . _Slimer_! _Blech_!"

Slimer had chosen that moment to dive down and give Peter a green, slimy kiss on the cheek, leaving a tell-tale trail behind him. He giggled as he floated towards the ceiling and away from Peter's angry tirade.

* * *

Ainttooproudtobeg here. Eleven chapters left. And, it goes downhill fast. How's that for a hint? Ciao.


	30. Dry Clothes

"Somehow, I don't think Sonny and Cher will ask us to be back-up singers anytime soon," Helen had to chase an errant trail of vanilla ice cream down her hand.

"It wasn't that bad," Ray offered, tossing his leftovers in a trash can they happened to pass.

"Well, we weren't the worst ones in that place. I could've done without the granny singing 'Material Girl'."

"At least she didn't break out the cone bra!"

They both laughed. A wino on a park bench gave them a dirty look before he covered himself with newspaper and rolled over.

"I didn't even know that place was there," Helen offered.

"We went on a bust there one night. Apparently, some Class Twos weren't as appreciative of the karaoke aspect of the place as some of the patrons."

"I just can't believe things like that have gone on in this city without me knowing it!"

They walked along the sidewalks in Central Park as they talked, no destination in mind. There were a few people out, and Helen knew from experience there was no telling what lurked in the shadows. But, tonight, she wasn't concerned with such things.

Finally finished with her ice cream cone, she threw her napkins away, wiping away the stickiness the best she could before taking Ray's hand in hers.

It just felt right.

They came to one of a few fountains operating inside the park, the small pool at the foot of the cascading waterfall home to a few errant coins that the vagrants had missed. They both sat at the base of it on the ledge.

"Sorry about tonight."

She reached over and patted his knee. "I've already told you, I think it worked out better this way. I honestly couldn't have had a better time."

He gave her a look.

"Honest! I swear!"

"I don't know what was more amusing – LaShea's being closed down by the health department or the fire at the concert hall."

"At least that hot dog cart was right outside LaShea's. I was starving! I didn't even get chili on my dress!"

"I really like that dress."

She smiled. "I know. You've told me that a thousand times."

"I want to be buried with that dress."

"Don't let Janine hear you say that. She'll bury you with the orange one."

More laughter. But, it was just that kind of night. Light, carefree.

"The petting zoo was fun. I've never fed a baby goat before," Helen looked up by habit. Although it was a little bit darker in the park, the numerous lights of the city illuminated the sky all around. No stars.

"I thought you'd never fed a baby goat in an evening dress before." Ray watched her as she searched. He knew what she was looking for.

"That, too."

"You never told me how you learned to tie a tie so well."

"Mrs. Abbott's home ec class."

"Ohhhh. That woman was merciless, wasn't she?"

Tired of craning her neck, Helen leaned her head on his shoulder. "There are three of us at the station who can tie them – me and two guys who were in the military. When we have to wear the dreaded dress uniforms, we line them up and get them done in a hurry. So, I get a lot of practice."

"You'd think their wives would do it for them." God, she smelt wonderful! He wanted to ask her what kind of shampoo she wore.

"Or their mothers. Most of them are just out of high school."

"Didn't think you'd be an old war horse before you hit 30, did you?"

"I didn't think I'd be a lot of things I am today." She sat up and looked at him. "And this is one of them. Sitting in Central Park in the middle of the night, ice cream on my hands, trying to ignore the winos snoring on the benches over there."

"It's not exactly how I pictured this night turning out either," Ray said honestly.

"So, just how _did_ you see it turning out?" Helen continued to tease him.

"Night's not over yet," Ray said nonchalantly.

Helen leaned her head back on his shoulder and linked her arm with his. Absently, he kissed the top of her head as they enjoyed the balmy, night air.

"You were looking for stars, weren't you?"

"Yeah. Old habit, I guess." She raised up and craned her neck again. "I thought I caught sight of one over there."

Ray wanted to say many things. How much he loved her. How he loved the way she went along with all the crazy things they did on their first official date, and seemed to enjoy herself. How she seemed to have changed for the better since they'd started seeing each other. Forgotten Gambini.

But, he knew just the mention of that man's name would bring sadness to her eyes.

And that's not what tonight was about.

"_Incoming_! _Hit the deck_!"

One of the homeless men landed at their feet, yelling about bombs.

It startled them so badly, they both jumped backwards. Ray managed to catch himself before he fell in the fountain, but Helen wasn't so lucky.

She sputtered to the surface just as the vagrant got up just like he hadn't a care in the world and sauntered away, nightmare long forgotten.

"Helen? Are you alright?"

She was alright – and mad as a hornet. "What in the _hell_ was that all about?" she asked, wiping a strand of wet hair out of her face as she tried to stand.

Ray couldn't help himself. He knew it would piss her off, but it was involuntary. The laughter bubbled forth from deep inside. He had to sit down, he laughed so hard.

Annoyed, Helen threw her soaked heels out of the fountain and stood up. "Oh, so you think this is funny, do you?"

Ray shook his head, still laughing. "N-no . . ."

She shook the excess water from her purse and tossed it out with her shoes. "Damn thing's ruined now, not to mention the gun. Are you going to help me out of here or not?" She balled up her skirt the best she could and rung it out, too.

Still chuckling, he stood up and offered her his hand.

He should've known better.

Before he realized what had happened, he was sputtering to the surface himself as Helen hooted with laughter.

"Serves you right!" She splashed him once for emphasis as he stood there, soaking wet, trying to figure out exactly what happened.

The vagrant who had caused the ruckus to begin with grabbed his newspaper bedding and shuffled off. "New York's full of crazies," he muttered to himself as he shuffled to a quieter place in the park to sleep it off.

* * *

"Sshhhh!" Ray put his finger to his lips.

"Just hurry up! I'm _freezing_ here!" Helen rubbed her arms to get the circulation going.

Ray stopped, key in mid-air. "In July?"

"If I get a cold and die, I'm going to haunt you."  
"Promise?"

They were still giggling as they stepped into the darkened firehouse.

And, there was no need for quiet. Ecto-1 was gone.

"I wonder where they went?" Ray stood there staring at the empty space where the car always sat, almost as if he could get some sort of vibe telling them where the other three had gone.

Helen was already up the stairs, heading for dry clothes, thanking the good Lord she had a pair of shorts behind the seat of her truck. "If it was serious, you'd know."

Ray thought of the times it really was serious. The city was usually in an uproar. "Yeah, you're right about that." However, he still ambled over to Janine's desk, looking for a clue, dripping all over the concrete floor and the papers on her desk. "Maybe they left a note . . ."

Something sopping wet sailed over the railing and landed on his head.

"Wha . . ." He pulled it off and stared at it.

It was Helen's dress.

He looked upstairs. She was grinning at him. "I have an idea about warming up." With a wink, she was gone.

Ray didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

"I bet it sounds like a train yard in here with all of you snoring all night long." Helen snuggled her back closer to Ray as he kissed her bare shoulder.

"They snore. I don't."

She snorted. "That's a lie."

"Well, _you_ snore, too, you know."

"I do _not_!"

"Do, too!"

"Do not!"

"I'll tape you next time to prove it." He moved her still-damp hair out of the way to kiss her neck.

"You would pull out the scientific equipment, wouldn't you?" Helen groused, trying her best not to sigh as his light kisses on her neck turned into something else entirely. And, his hands got into the act, too. "If you start that up again, Bub, the guys are going to catch us _in flagrante delicto_."

"You like those criminal Latin terms, don't you? And, it doesn't sound like a bad way to get caught."

Helen swatted him away playfully and rolled over to face him, propping her elbow on his pillow, hand against her cheek. "You are just plain _bad_, you know that?"

He grinned at her. "_You're_ the one that pulled me into that fountain."

She grinned back. "It's been an eventful evening."

Ray had been stewing on an idea he had ever since he saw her sitting in the window weeks ago, searching the skies. "How much gas you got in that truck of yours?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. I think it's almost full, unless someone's siphoned it."

"That's plenty for what I have in mind." He threw the blankets back and started hunting dry clothing.

Helen sat up. "Just what _do_ you have in mind?"

"You'll see."

Helen wasn't fond of surprises. "What am I going to wear?" she balked.

"Here." He tossed her one of his dress shirts he had decided not to wear this evening. Helen caught it with one hand and studied it. "I take it we're not going anywhere dressy then, huh?"

"You'll see."

"I'm not getting anymore out of you than that, am I?"

"Nope."

She pursed her lips. "Fine. But, it better be good."

"Oh, it'll be good."


	31. Over Eager Barney Fife

"Her young faaaccceee was like that of an aannngel. Her long leeeegggsss were tanned and broowwnn . . ."

They had left the city behind, the only company on the two-lane blacktop the occasional transfer truck and an old AM station out of Calumet City, IL.

"I know Sammy Johns was a one-hit wonder, but I think he'd be ashamed of us butchering his song," Helen said as 'Chevy Van' faded away. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I sorta feel like Bud and Cissy."

"Huh?" Ray glanced at her before returning his eyes to the road.

"You know? 'Urban Cowboy.' They always rode around in that old pick-up truck, and she'd sit in the middle right next to him." She sat up and glanced at him. "You didn't see it, did you?"

"Apparently not."

Helen snuggled back against his side. "Let's see . . . I bet you were too busy studying for some final or other in college, weren't you?"

"That sounds about right. The soundtrack was good, though."

"Had a radio in that little dorm room of yours, huh?"

"At least radio is free. Not so for movies."

Helen glanced out the dark windshield. They had long left the suburbs, and now the landscape was more fields and farms. "How far are we from this little surprise?"

"This should be about right." Ray slowed and pulled off to the side of the road next to a fence. A few cows stood in the moonlight, and they all turned to look at this rare occurrence.

He turned off the ignition, the only sound that of the engine cooling and a cow lowing in the distance.

"You're not going to pull that old out-of-gas bit, are you?" Helen said, sitting up.

"All I had to do to get you to bed was shove you in the fountain. Give me more credit than that!"

Helen stuck her tongue out at him, but followed him out the driver's side door, stretching a bit. "Funny, I don't even feel all that tired. I think I just want to see what sort of adventures you have in store for me next."

"It has been that sort of night, hasn't it?" He opened up the tailgate with a bang and sat on it, patting the place next to him. "Have a seat."

She looked at him skeptically. "Just what do you have in mind?"

"I won't bite," he said innocently at first. But, she could even see the gleam in his eyes in the darkness. "Unless you want me to."

"Oh, _hush_!" She plopped next to him on the truck, wiggling to get settled.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

"Sure." A pause. "Don't tell me there's going to be some sort of kinetic paranormal energy field appear from nowhere."

"You catch on to the jargon fast. And, that's not it."

"Oh? Well . . ."

"Look up, Helen."

Helen automatically did as she was told. And, she sucked in a breath and held it.

Twinkling lightslike tiny little pinpricks, the stars above them glowed from galaxies far away. "There must be _millions_ of them," Helen breathed. "Oh, Ray, look!"

Ray was too busy watching her face, the pure joy of seeing something as simple as stars making her more beautiful than ever.

"There's Orion. And the Big Dipper."

"Where?"

He pointed. "Over there."

Her gaze followed where he was motioning. "The thing that looks like a big spoon?"

"Yeah. And Orion is the one with that big star over there in his belt."

"I see it! Oh, wow! Show me another one."

She was in awe – more for the stars than his knowledge, that he knew. But, he would've made them up if he had to.

Before long, they had both laid back in the truck bed, more to save their necks than anything. He had exhausted his astronomy knowledge, and she had grown quiet, as well.

Ray had to admit, it was an impressive sight. Something city dwellers definitely were missing out on.

"You asleep?" he asked without looking over at her.

"Nope." She did sound sleepy though. But, then again, it was almost 3 a.m.

"You just got quiet on me."

"Just thinking, I guess."

"Dangerous to do at 3 in the morning."

A small chuckle. "Things do seem different in the dead of night, don't they? But, they're so beautiful." A pause. "Ivan always thought my star theory was crazy."

"Well, if he's now up there looking down at you, maybe he'd believe you now."

"Yeah, it took him getting killed for that to happen." Her tone wasn't bitter, just sad.

"You don't talk about him much anymore." Or her sister. Or Gambini.

A huge sigh. "Clancy gets me to talk about it some. Says if I hold it in, I'll probably go ballistic on some perp one day with all my pent-up aggression."

Ray was quiet for a moment. "You don't seem that angry to me."

"Clancy lost a partner once. Didn't handle it too well, either. I guess he thinks all of us should be like that."

"Oh."

Another quiet moment.

"You two seem to be getting along better than you thought."

"Clancy's turned out to be alright. But, he's no Ivan." She shook her head fondly. "That man couldn't knot a tie if his life depended on it. There were many times he came to my apartment just so I could tie it before one of his million dates."

He could hear the wistfulness in her voice. Still lying on their backs staring at the night sky, he reached over and took her hand. "This is the first time you've mentioned him in days."

She glanced over at him. "Honestly – I haven't thought about him all night. Or my sister. You have that affect on me, Ray Stantz. Being with you doesn't allow me to think in the past."

"I hope that's a good thing."

"Oh, it's a good thing." She squeezed her hand, and he squeezed back.

"Just promise me one thing?"

"What's that?"

He tried to figure out how to word this. "If Gambini does show back up, don't . . . don't . . ."

"Don't try to take him on myself? Don't try to shoot his balls off?"

"Right!"

Helen sighed as she watched the stars twinkling merrily away. She'd often wondered what she would do if she ran back into that scum. Could she promise she wouldn't do any of those things? Could she walk away from him without lifting a finger to get even for the deaths of two of the most important people in her life? Could she?

Since when did their conversation get so serious?

Ray's voice was quiet when he spoke up again. "I know I don't have the right to boss you around. I can't stand it myself." Helen chuckled in agreement. "But, he's dangerous. And, I know you can take care of yourself, but if something happened to you, I . . . wellIdon'tthinkIcouldstandit."

His last words were so jumbled together, Helen had to think about what he had said.

She propped herself up on her elbow. "You _are_ bossing me around, Raymond."

"I am not!"

She smiled at him slyly. "But, that's OK. I'll let you this one time." She laid back down, hands folded across her stomach. "And, I promise."

"You do?"

"Well, I said I did, didn't I?"

A moment of silence. "Wow . . . I just wasn't expecting that."

"Expecting me to argue with you?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I don't want to walk back to Manhattan, so I figure I'd be nice."

"It's your truck. I figured _I'd_ be walking home!" He couldn't quite grasp that she would let it go that easily.

But, why look a gift horse in the mouth?

Before he could say anything else, blue flashing lights interrupted their view of the sky. Both of them sat up and shielded their eyes against the bright headlights of a vehicle coming to a stopjust feet from them.

"Uh-oh," Ray said.

Helen watched apprehensively as two officers climb from the car, hands on their hips close to their guns. She tried to recall just what district they were in, especially since she couldn't quite read the words written on the side of big black and white Dodge. "Just don't make any sudden moves. Getting shot by an over-eager Barney Fife was not in my plans for the night," she whispered.

Ray remained silent.

She just hoped it was someone who didn't have a grudge of sorts against the NYPD. Unfortunately, most of the outlying areas around the city did.

They shined a flashlight in both of their faces, making them squint even more.

"Hi, folks," the driver said, his voice friendly, but wary.

Helen thought he looked about 15 years old. A kid playing cops and robbers.

She just hoped they didn't think they were robbers.

"Hi," Ray said, shielding his eyes with his hand. "Is there something wrong?"

As usual, the kid-playing-cop wasn't there to answer questions. He was there to ask him. "Any problems here, folks?"

So far, his partner had remained silent. Helen studied him for a moment.

Yep. About 15 years old, too. Maybe 16 with that peach fuzz on his chin.

Apparently, they were the most exciting thing that had happened all week. And, these guys were going to milk it for all they were worth.

Ray shook his head. "None at all. We were just looking at the stars."

Since Ray's people skills greatly exceeded her own, she let him do the talking.

Both of the cops looked at them like they were crazy. "Can I see your license and registration, please?" the passenger cop finally spoke.

"Sure, but it's her truck . . ." Ray started to hop off the tailgate, but Helen grabbed his arm to stop him just as the passenger cop made a move for his gun.

"Jesus, guys! You don't think I keep my registration in my pocket, do you?" Helen finally spoke.

The driver motioned with his flash light. "Go on. But, you only."

Helen resisted the urge to roll her eyes and climbed from the tailgate and going to the cab as Ray watched.

Luckily for her, she had her police identification as well. Well, lucky as long as they didn't decide to toy with her because she was a big-city cop in their jurisdiction.

She handed the information to the passenger cop.

He didn't look impressed as he studied her ID, then shined the flashlight in her eyes again.

Helen wanted to tell him to knock it off.

"NYPD, huh?" His mouth twitched as he moved the flashlight up and down.

"Even the NYPD gets a night off sometimes, you know." Helen said, crossing her arms impatiently. Sure, she didn't look like a cop in Ray's shirt and an old pair of shorts, but hell, what did the guy expect?

He walked off with her ID, and Helen almost spoke up. Ray put his hand on her arm, and she kept quiet.

Don't rile the natives, his touch said.

Helen hated it when he was right.

The cops conversed silently with each other as they kept their eye out for any sudden movements.

"What's going on?" Ray whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"I'm afraid we've stumbled onto a bunch that wants to humble the big city cop."

"They do that around here?"

"It's pretty common," she said as she huffed a strand of hair out of her eyes.

The officers both sauntered towards them. Helen noted they stayed on either side of them like they might strike like common criminals.

"Look, guys. If we're trespassing, we're sorry. We'll just be on our way . . ." Ray started.

"You can't trespass on the right-of-way. It doesn't belong to anyone," Helen blurted out, a little fed up with this charade.

Bad idea. Both of the officers frowned.

"Let's see your ID," one of them finally said, pointing his flashlight at Ray.

Ray glanced at her, and she shrugged. _Nothin' I can do, babe_.

He slowly went for his wallet and pulled it out under the watchful eye of both of them.

The driver took it from him and studied it.

Helen wondered what took so long to read a damn driver's license and had to bite her tongue to keep from saying just that. No need to spend the night in Podunk Co. Jail.

"We're going to have to call this in. Make sure it's legit," the passenger cop said holding her badge.

"Wait a minute! If we're not doing anything illegal, what's the point in detaining us . . ." Helen started to argue.

The driver cop was still looking at Ray's driver's license. He shined the flashlight back in Ray's eyes. "Hey! Don't I know you . . ."

* * *

So, did you catch my 'Blues Brothers' reference? I couldn't help myself ;-) Oh, and I don't own 'Chevy Van' or _Urban Cowboy_, either. Just in case you didn't realize that, too.


	32. Setbacks

"Whew! I am _beat_!" Winston said as he climbed out of the driver's seat of Ecto-1, the headlights illuminating the darkened first floor until Peter flicked a switch.

"That's the last call we take at dark thirty," Peter said as he watched Winston and Egon remove the equipment from the car before turning towards the stairs. "And, of course, we'd be dealing with something like this without Ray."

"I wonder if he's having a good time?" Winston asked as he slammed the door of the locker that housed the proton packs.

"I think he's probably having a better time that we know." Peter held up something that was draped carelessly across the banister.

"What is that?" Winston asked, taking a closer look.

Egon said. "And is it . . . wet?"

Peter tossed Helen's dress back where it was. "It sure as hell better be water."

"Is it safe to go up the stairs?" Winston asked a little warily. "It _seems_ quiet enough."

"We made enough noise coming in. I imagine they're not here," Egon said evenly as he headed up the stairs.

"That's right, Egon. You be the guinea pig. We'll stay down here where it's safe," Peter said.

Egon disappeared into the bunk room. "Coast's clear. Although, they've obviously been here." He tossed Ray's equally soaked suit coat out the door.

Winston chuckled when he saw it. "I bet there is some kinda story behind this."

"Knowing Ray like I do, I'm sure of it," Egon said.

* * *

"I can't believe it was you being a Ghostbuster and not me being a cop that got us off back there," Helen said between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs and French toast. She reached for her glass of orange juice and washed it down.

"I figured your mouth would get us in trouble before it was over with. I'd take any out I could get at that point."

The early morning sunlight shown weakly through the large pane window on the outskirts of the city. It was relatively empty this early in the morning, but as good as the food was, Helen figured it would be teeming with folks before long. "I bet they didn't even have their bullets in their guns. Probably were issued one bullet that they kept in their pockets or some other nonsense like that."

"No wonder they don't like you NYPD. You _are_ a cocky bunch, you know." Ray pointed his fork at her for emphasis.

Helen rolled her eyes. "You'd think we'd all be on the same side. But, we're not."

"Well, if we had to call the guys to bail us out of jail out here, we'd never hear the end of it."

Helen yawned. "I imagine you'll never hear the end of it, anyway. You think they'll send out a search party?"

"They might."

"So, our first real date. It was a lulu, wasn't it?"

"Never a dull moment." He leaned back in the booth. "And for some reason, I'm not ready for it to be over yet."

She grinned at him. "I don't know what other mischief we can get into. Plus, I need some sleep. All-nighters get a little old after awhile. Even the fun ones."

"I have an idea or two . . ."

"It better involve a bed."

"Oh, it does."

She tossed her napkin at him as he laughed. The waitress behind the counter looked up and smiled, shaking her head.

* * *

The cigar smoke curled lazily up to the exposed metal beams in the ceiling. Sure, his new office wasn't as plush as his old one at the strip joint, but he'd be back.

He always had before.

Setbacks were common in his line of business. People tried to take over your turf. Or – as this current instance – the cops tried to muscle in on what he'd worked so hard to accrue. And they had succeeded. To a point.

But, he'd followed Roxie, otherwise known as Lt. Helen Stephenson, around enough to figure out her strengths and weaknesses.

And, since his little plan with Cindy never panned out – probably because that girl was a simp no matter how good she was in the sack – he'd hatched a new one. A different one. One that would play on Stephenson's weaknesses to a perfect T.

He couldn't help but cackle a bit to himself.

Rocco Gambini might be down, but he sure as hell wasn't out.

* * *

_. . . You'll get yours, Helen Stephenson. Just like your sister . . ._

Helen sat straight up in bed, heart pounding so loudly, she thought it was going to jump out of her chest.

Breathing raggedly, she threw the blankets back and headed for the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face.

Damn nightmares.

This was the first one she'd had in awhile. She didn't know what exactly triggered it, but as her shaking hands splashed water on her face to clear her head, she wished she could just forget about all of it. Ivan. Her sister. Gambini. It would be nice if it would just twirl down the drain of her consciousness, never to be seen or heard from again.

Quietly, as to not disturb Ray snoring away, she padded into the kitchen.

The clock on the wall said 2:30, the sun streaming in the window making her blink. Definitely 2:30 p.m., not a.m. Opening the refrigerator, she studied its contents absently, her mind still a whirl of emotions.

_I'll get you, Helen Stephenson._

She reached for a soft drink, shuddering a bit as she remembered those words hissed at her through the closed door of Gambini's office.

So close. She was _so_ close.

She wished for something a little stronger. To calm her nerves.

Propping herself on the counter, she sipped her drink.

She promised Ray she'd drop it. And she had ever intention of doing that.

But, if she ever came across Gambini again, she wondered if she could keep that promise. She hoped to God she could. It was sheer luck that she'd run into Ray again, and she didn't plan on screwing it up with her past. Those were not his problems.

If anything, she didn't want to drag him into them anymore than necessary.

"Helen?"

She turned. Looking half asleep, Ray was standing there yawning. "You alright?"

She managed a smile. "Just . . . just couldn't sleep."

"Well, it _is_ 2:30 in the afternoon." He held out his arms, and she gladly went into them. Where she felt safe.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply. It may sound crazy, but he even _smelt_ safe. "I'm just glad I was off today. I don't think I could've stayed awake on patrol after staying up all night." His heart beat steadily, further calming her nerves.

He kissed her forehead. "I hate to say this, but I better go."

"The world hasn't come to an end yet. The city isn't overrun with all those class twos and fours. Just stick around a little while longer." She propped her chin on his chest and grinned up at him. "I could make it worth your while, you know."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "Keep looking at me like that, and I just make take you up on that offer."

"That's my ulterior motive."

* * *

Whistling, Ray sauntered through the door of the firehouse.

All the legs of Peter's chair hit the floor with a thunk. "Well, well, well! Look what the cat drug in!"

"Anything interesting happen while I was gone?" Ray asked.

"Well, Egon nearly blew up the third floor with one of his experiments," Janine offered. She was dying to know details, but figured they wouldn't get much out of Ray. He was never one to discuss the women he dated. It just so happened that Helen actually hung out with them from time-to-time, or they probably wouldn't know anything at all.

"We caught a couple of class threes uptown," Winston offered. "Been quiet, really."

Peter looked at all them incredulously. "Oh, come _on_! I know for a fact all of you are dying to here how the never-ending date went!" He turned to Ray. "And, when I said don't be back before 3, I meant 3 _a.m_. As in last night. As in over 12 hours ago!"

Ray stopped before he headed up the stairs and leaned on the banister. "Oh, you know. The usual."

"So what's the deal with this?" Peter held up the now-wrinkled, obviously un-used tickets to the orchestra he had fished out of Ray's pockets.

"Oh, that. There was a fire. It was canceled. Or postponed."

"Sooo . . . what did the two of you get into?"

"Yeah, how was the restaurant?" Janine asked.

Ray looked a little sheepish. "We didn't go."

"Didn't go? After getting all dressed up?" Janine practically shrieked.

"And getting soaking wet somewhere in the process," Peter said.

"We fell in the fountain in Central Park. Actually, she fell in and drug me in with her," Ray said as he started up the stairs. It wasn't that he didn't like to share what happened in his life with his closest friends. It was just that some things he liked to keep to himself.

The other three stared at each other in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Well, yeah. It was after we went to the karaoke bar and the petting zoo, but before we almost got arrested out by the county line." He did it mainly to see the look on their faces.

And it was priceless.

"You almost got _arrested_?" Peter said, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. "What kinda date _was_ that?"

Ray smiled to himself. "The best kind."


	33. Choices

Helen walked through the door, her arms full of groceries.

Janine peered at her over her glasses. "You don't know what you're getting into, do you? Cooking for these guys is like throwing good food down a bottomless pit."

Helen huffed and puffed until she lugged the grocery sacks in, plopping them on Janine's desk before they broke through. "I won't even argue that point with you."

"What's on the menu?"

"Italian. Mainly because it's hard to screw up boiling water and adding noodles," Helen poked through one of the sacks. "And, if I've squished my bread, I'm going to throw a fit right here!"

"So domestic, aren't we?" Janine said, twirling a pencil in his fingers.

"I hope he doesn't get used to it. I hate to cook. A-ha!" Helen pulled the loaf of bread out, thankfully un-squished.

"You do realize if you cook for Ray, you cook for the guys. And Slimer. Possibly me. Depends on how it tastes."

Helen plopped down in an empty chair next to Janine's desk. "At least they're not here. I have a distinct suspicion that I wouldn't ever get done with all of them underfoot."

"They had a run. Left outta here not fifteen minutes ago," Janine leaned back in her chair. "Slimer's still here somewhere. Probably stuffing his face in the fridge. How many of Ray's shirts did you commandeer, anyway?"

Helen looked down at her clothes. It _was_ Ray's shirt. "He leaves them at my place." And, they smelt like him. But, she wouldn't ever admit that to anyone.

"Well, he better start bringing them back, or he won't have any clothes here. Your partner ever come back?"

Helen made a face. "Clancy's back. And ornery as ever. He thinks getting shot will get him out of all the dirty work until retires. I have news for him. That won't work in my car. And that was _my_ car before he came along!"

"Men. You can't live with them. And, you can't shoot them."

"Sometimes, I wonder." Helen looked at Janine, and they both grinned at each other.

The phone jangled annoyingly from Janine's desk.

Helen hopped up from her perch as she answered. "Guess I better get started." "It's for you." Janine's held the phone out for her with one well-manicured hand.

Helen paused and blinked. "Who the hell knows I'm here?"

Janine shrugged. "Don't know. I'm not _your_ secretary, anyway."

Helen stuck out her tongue at her and reached for the receiver.

"Hello?"

"My dear Roxie! Or, should I say Helen! So nice to hear your voice."

* * *

Helen never understood the meaning of the phrase 'blood ran cold' until that moment. Just the mere sound of Rocco Gambini's fake-sweet, Brooklyn accent made her entire body feel numb.

Shock. Anger. Disbelief. All of those quickly followed.

"Helen? Is something wrong?" Janine asked, obviously concerned despite her last comment. It was hard not to notice that Helen had paled noticeably the moment she answered the phone.

And something on her face, some look in her eyes, disturbed Janine more than she cared to admit.

Helen covered her hand on the receiver. "It's . . . everything's fine. Do you mind if I take this over there?" She pointed towards Peter's desk behind the filing cabinets. Her voice shook just the slightest, despite her best efforts.

Janine knew she was lying. "Go right ahead."

Just the short walk to the phone and a little privacy had Helen's mind filling with questions.

With a shaky hand, she picked the receiver on Peter's desk and pressed the blinking light.

"What do you want?" Her voice was devoid of emotion, but not on the inside. Inside, she was a mess.

A tsking sound. "Is that a way to talk to your former employer? What about character references? You might _need_ something from me in the future."

Helen had to make sure she kept her voice low when all she wanted to do was scream in frustration. "I don't _ever_ need anything from you, you lowlife bastard!" she hissed. Her fingers itched to slam the phone down in disgust and go upstairs and start supper. Forget about all this.

Just like she promised Ray.

But, there was no turning back, especially after his next words. "Since I hold your life in the palm of my hand, I'd speak in a little nicer tone, Roxie." His tone was less friendly than it had been.

And, although she wanted to protest, she knew he had a point. The man was ruthless, that much she knew.

"Helen." Her voice was wooden in response. "It's Helen."

She let her guard down. She'd tried to forget her past and everything that had brought her to where she was today. And, now, she was going to have to pay the price.

"Ahh, that's right. Roxie the Stripper becomes Helen the Cop. Maybe you should go to Hollywood. You play all the parts so well."

"What the hell do you want?" Her sweaty palm gripped the phone was tightly, she thought it might break in her hand.

"Always to the point, my dear. Well, this is what I want. You at the docks. 8 p.m. And you better come alone. No cops. No friends. Just you."

Laughter – not of amusement but of relief - threatened to bubble in Helen's chest. "I'm not at your beck-and-call, you murdering son-of-a-bitch! You can rot in hell as far as I'm concerned!"

Rocco did laugh, and it sounded sinister coming through the phone. "But, you see, you _are_ at my beck-and-call! Because you and I have a score to settle. And settle it we shall." His laughter grew quiet. "And, frankly, I'm interested to see if you'll beg for your life like your sister did."

Helen knew he was baiting her. It was how that man operated. And, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Although she really would love the opportunity to fill him full of lead and leave him bleeding on the ground. Especially at the picture his words generated. Her sister. Her beautiful sister. Begging for her life.

Somehow, through her anger, she knew she'd be outnumbered anyway. If she couldn't bring friends, Rocco most definitely could.

That – also – was how he operated.

"Goodbye, Rocco." She started to hang up the phone.

"So, you're saying you're not coming?"

Helen put the phone back firmly on her ear. "Damn straight, that's what I'm saying! And, you can just stay the hell out of New York, and we'll get along just fine."

"That's not part of the deal."

Helen's heart was pounding so loudly, she was sure Janine could hear it. _Keep your voice down . . ._ "What deal? I made no _deal_ with you."

"The deal is this. You show up. We settle our differences. You don't show up . . . well, let's just say one day, your Ghostbuster friends get a call. And, it's not a ghost they have to deal with."

His open-ended threat made Helen want to weep. Her mouth hung open in shock.

The bastard had her. Right where he wanted her.

Rocco was enjoying himself way too much. "I'll especially enjoy meeting Dr. Stantz again. Rather an honorable man, don't you think? But, honorable men bleed just as red as the rest of us."

Her heart rate ratcheted up another notch. "You lay one hand on him, and I'll hunt you down like the dog you are . . ."

"Meet me in forty-five minutes. And it won't even be an issue."

The soft click in her ear told her all she needed to know.

He _knew_ she'd be there. He'd given her a choice without actually _giving_ her a choice.

Helen wanted to pick up the entire phone and fling it against wall, pretending it was Gambini's head.

But, Janine couldn't know. Through her confusion and anger, that much she did recognize.

So, she had to settle for hanging up the phone just a little harder than necessary.

She'd screwed up. Not only did she go after a man with nothing but vengeance on her side, she'd gotten her partner killed in the process.

Now, he was threatening someone else she held dear.

Helen rubbed a hand over her face to bring some clarity to her thoughts.

The only thing that surfaced was one.

She had to meet Gambini. Remove him from the face of this earth.

It was the only way.

"Everything alright back there?"

"Oh. Uh . . .yeah. Everything's great. Just great." Helen made herself walk back around to Janine's desk like nothing was wrong, picking up her purse. "Listen, I gotta go down to the station and take care of some stuff." She motioned towards the sacks of groceries. It was the least of her worries right now. "I'll deal with this when I get back."

_If I get back . . ._

"Who was that on the phone?" Janine watched her closely as she fumbled in her purse for her keys.

"Who? Oh . . . my . . . my captain. He just needs my help . . . with something that's been going on at the station." Helen knew she could lie convincingly when she had to, but Gambini had upset her more than she'd ever been upset in her life.

She had to come to terms with that before she got to the docks. A clear head. And two guns. That's all she needed to take care of him.

Although an entire task force came away empty-handed.

Helen started across the empty bay towards the door without waiting for a response, her mind already a whirl. _I have my sidearm in the truck and my little piece to strap around my ankle somewhere underneath the seat . . ._

"Wait! What'll I tell Ray?"

Helen paused mid-stride.

_Yeah, just what will you tell Ray? _

He'd kill him. Just like her sister and Ivan and countless others.

Helen cleared her throat against the tears that threatened. "Tell him . . . tell him I'll see him when I see him."

She let the door bang shut behind her.

* * *

Janine knew something was up. Just like she knew when her nephew had put the cat in the fridge or when the guys wanted to tell her something she didn't want to hear, but he had to tell her anyway.

And, something was going on.

"Her captain, my ass," she muttered to herself. And, she only had a few moments to figure out exactly what to do about it. Helen would never tell, and Janine couldn't sit on her until Ray and the guys got there.

"Slimer!" Her voice carried throughout the firehouse.

Slimer immediately appeared from the stairway with what looked like a leftover piece of friend chicken in his hand. "Wha?"

Janine didn't have time to berate him about the food. She pointed out the door. "Follow her. Stay with her no matter what. And, if something bad happens . . . well, stay with her then, too, if you can't get help."

Slimer mocked-saluted her, the piece of chicken going flying and floated out the door, a dark-green smudge on the wall all that was left, leaving her alone in the firehouse. Wondering if she had done the right thing.

_Maybe I should've tried sitting on her._

In the end, it was the best she could do. Especially not knowing exactly what Helen was up to.

It was something she had to remind herself constantly in the days to come.


	34. Crates

Helen knew Rocco wouldn't be alone.

And, she also knew there was nothing she could do about it.

So, she had to be on her guard for any movement. Rocco had the advantage, since he was calling the shots. But, Helen knew she had no choice.

_He'd kill Ray. . . no, no, don't think about that right now, dammit!_

Those damn tears threatened again.

Angrily, she wiped them away as she headed towards the docks, the sun almost completely gone in the sky. Traffic was lighter down here. There wouldn't be many to witness what was going to happen. Just the way Rocco wanted it.

And, they would all wonder how she wound up with her throat slit in a trunk in the East River . . . _no! Don't think like that!_

Her hands squeezed the steering wheel in a momentary bout of panic. All the movies and television shows where the hero or heroine calmly pursues the bad guy were a bunch of bull.

She was scared to death.

But, it was either her or Rocco. Or even Ray.

And, she knew exactly who she'd like to see six-feet under.

She approached the correct dock number slowly, headlights off. No cars were visible at first. Her sidearm was in its holster underneath Ray's shirt, which was oversized on her. Gambini didn't say no guns, and he couldn't be foolish enough to think she'd come unarmed.

No, he _wanted_ her to be armed.

And, she was jumping – unwillingly – into whatever he had planned.

But, the ankle holster underneath her jeans' leg was just as comforting.

Stopping her truck and turning off the ignition on the dock closest to the rendezvous point, she sat there in the quiet, taking in her surroundings.

Sure enough, the front end of a newer model Cadillac sat next to one of the buildings. Nothing but open space in front of it.

Even if the shipyard was running, no one who worked there would own such an expensive machine.

Helen took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.

Even Clancy would've been welcome by her side tonight.

She didn't notice the small green ghost peak over the bed of her truck, watching her with worried eyes.

* * *

Her senses on overload, Helen almost went for her weapon when she saw the driver's side door of the Caddy open when she got about thirty feet away from it.

It wasn't Gambini. But, it _was_ someone she recognized.

Joe. Joe the bartender. Who kept a shotgun behind the bar. The same caliber that killed Ivan.

Her hand itched for her service weapon, but Joe didn't pay her any attention. Just opened up the backdoor of the Caddy, a bored expression on his face.

With her peripheral vision, she searched for any cover she had.

The closest thing to protection was a stack of wooden crates. Almost ten yards away.

Great. Just great. When and if bullets started flying – and Helen figured they would – those crates might as well be a mile away.

She tried to stand as loosely as possible. Not give away anything she had.

What little of it there was.

Helen made herself search the area some more.

No one else in sight. No movement at all. Just Joe and Gambini.

Two against one.

Well, that seemed fair, didn't it?

When Gambini finally emerged regally from the car, just the sight of his slicked-back hair made her want to pull her weapon and fire.

But, she was smart enough to realize Joe wasn't as lazy as he appeared. She'd probably be dead before she even fired one shot.

Gambini took a moment to light up a cigar, with the assistance of Joe, puffing on it for a moment. Savoring. Enjoying himself immensely.

A bead of sweat trickled down Helen's back, all her muscles tensed.

Gambini finally shut the door of the car and took a few steps in her direction. Although no weapons were visible, Helen knew they were there.

He leaned on the hood of the car and watched her, a rather amused expression on his face. "My, my, Roxie. You've let yourself go. Is that . . . a man's shirt?"

"You're the last person I care about impressing. Now, what do you want?" Her cop voice. It never failed her, no matter how terrified she may be.

Rocco was going to go at this his own pace. "Nice to see you came alone. Followed instructions like a good little city employee, didn't you?" A hint of derision in his tone.

Helen tried not to visibly flex her fingers, itching for her gun. One shot. Right between the eyes. That's all she needed. "What do you want?"

Rocco shrugged. "Unfortunately, what I want and what I need are two entirely different things."

"Don't care," Helen said between clenched teeth. "What's your point?"

Rocco seemed to think for a moment, almost as if he was coming up with this off the top of his head. But, Helen wasn't that foolish. "I seem to be having a bit of a problem with the NYPD."

"Well, killing several of them will do that."

Rocco actually laughed, the sound echoing off the building.

Joe didn't even crack a smile. Neither did Helen.

Rocco wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "The way I see it, if someone can get them off my trail one way or the other, then I can continue right along. Maybe open up a new strip joint somewhere. Add to the business, you know? And business would be booming even for that person to get a cut. A small one."

Helen shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. She didn't like where this was going. Not one bit. "And, if that person - let's say it were me - said you were full of shit and to rot in hell?"

Rocco shrugged. "Well, we'll see how that person – you, perhaps – would like for her lover to mysteriously disappear one day. So sad. Just one day, 'poof'!" he snapped his fingers for effect, "gone. No trace."

Helen wanted to scream in rage.

She shouldn't have gotten involved with Ray if she had known it would come to this . . .

Helen swallowed her rage. Forced it deep down inside of her soul. He _wanted_ to see her angry. To _make_ her suffer.

She had to keep her head level. It was the only way she might have a chance to take them both, as slim as it may seem standing out here in the open like this.

And, she knew just how she had to answer him.

"No."

He cocked his head. "You'd be willing to sacrifice Dr. Stantz, and even his friends . . ."

"I wouldn't prostitute myself for you as Roxie. And, I won't do it now." _God help me._

Rocco was silent for a moment. "You won't reconsider?"

Helen shook her head. "What I'm going to do is go back to my truck, get in and leave. I'm through with you, Gambini. You've made my life a living hell. And, quite frankly, I'm not going to let you do it anymore." That's right. Shoot them both and run for cover.

Rocco sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that."

* * *

Huddled behind the very crates Helen was hoping to use for cover, Slimer hovered nearby.

This was bad. Really bad.

Although not quite able to comprehend everything that was being said, he knew Helen was in danger.

And, he knew if something wasn't done about it, she could be worse than in danger.

He also knew the guys didn't like him showing himself needlessly to the public. But, when Joe reached inside his coat, Slimer didn't hesitate.

Screaming at the top of his lungs, he flew at them like the hounds of Hell were after him.

* * *

Helen knew some unspoken word must've been exchanged between Rocco and his henchman.

And, when Joe went for his gun, she went for hers. Exposed as she was, it was all she could do.

Somehow, she pulled hers first and fired two shots in quick succession instinctively as she ran for cover.

Joe fired once as Gambini ducked, the older man somehow knowing Helen wasn't yet ready to deal with him.

The unhuman shriek that filled the air made Joe hesitate just a moment, his eyes bugging out of his head when he saw what was coming towards him. His aim wavered, not sure now where he should aim. Helen? Or this green blob?

Even Gambini looked taken aback.

Helen had no clue where Slimer came from, but as she dove for cover, she fired two more rounds in Joe's direction.

This time, even Rocco ducked behind the car as Joe fell to his knees, his gun slipping from his grip.

Slimer veered away. Bullets wouldn't phase him, and he grinned in triumph.

Helen had gotten one of them.

With a gurgle, Joe fell face first on the ground. The round from the .45 had gone right through him, the exit wound on his back growing by the seconds. The other man – the one that made all the threats Slimer didn't like – was huddled behind the big car, making sure no other bullets were headed in his direction.

Slimer noted he didn't even act concerned about the guy with the bullet through his chest.

Typical.

* * *

Helen couldn't believe she made it to the crates! At this point, she wasn't even sure if she had hit anyone, but mercifully, the firing from Joe's direction had stopped.

The game had changed just a bit. Maybe to her advantage.

However, any advantages she thought she had flew out the window when her adrenaline ebbed as she tried to catch her breath.

The pain was excruciating with the first deep breath she tried to take, bringing tears to her eyes.

Her hand automatically went to her side.

And came back covered in blood.

Her vision blurred momentarily as she sank to the ground.

She'd heard of this. The adrenaline kept you going long after you should've been brought to your knees. It happened in the wilds to a wounded animal, and it happened on the streets of New York when a punk shoots another one, the injured man managing to run several blocks while losing what looked like gallons of blood in the process.

But, she never dreamed it would feel like this.

She would've liked the adrenaline to stick around a little longer. Frantically, she managed to reach behind her despite the pain each little movement caused her.

No exit wound.

And, just these few frantic moments found her covered in her own blood.

Artery. Had to be. Nothing caused that much blood loss.

And, it would kill her if she didn't do something about it. Soon.

She had to get to her truck.

Through blurred vision – just why the hell is it so blurry, anyway? – she realized it was too far away.

Especially what she didn't know what was going on just on the other side of the crates.

It was quiet. Nothing except her shallow, frantic breathing as she tried to calm herself. Each beat of her heart was causing her to bleed out.

At least if the bastard kills me, he'll leave Ray alone.

The gun slipped from her right hand, her muscles refusing to respond, as she winced at another wave of pain.

Oh, God . . .


	35. A Green Lassie

Rocco stayed hidden behind the Caddy with his own gun drawn, risking no more than a cursory glance towards the obviously dead Joe.

Damn bitch was a good shot.

And just what the hell was that green thing?

He looked over his head.

Nothing.

Imagination, maybe?

No . . . Joe saw it, too. He probably would've hit the bitch if it hadn't of surprised him.

And, he sure wasn't going to risk sticking his head over the trunk to get it shot off.

But, all remained quiet.

Oh, hell no, she wasn't going to sneak up behind him!

On hands and knees, he peeked underneath the car, wondering what was going on.

Nothing. No sign of her.

He risked peering over the hood.

Not a peep. Of her or the green thing he had brushed off as imagined.

Feeling braver, he stood, his gun still drawn.

She was no where to be seen.

Where the hell did she go?

He took a few steps and saw it.

Blood. Right where she had been standing only moments before.

Hot damn, Joe had gotten her after all!

And, the little dribbles of blood snaked behind a pile of crates a few yards away.

He adjusted his suit collar.

This may turn out to my advantage, after all. Dump them both in the river. Or maybe leave them. After all, Joe did shoot her partner. They could chalk it up to Roxie-Helen getting her revenge for it, both of them dying in the process.

Either way, he came out smelling like a rose.

Which is exactly how he liked it.

* * *

Helen didn't even realize Slimer was still there until he started babbling. Concerned babbling, but she never could understand him like Ray could.

Oh, hell. Ray . . .

He would never forgive her. Even if she got out of this alive.

"Hey, you," she managed to whisper, surprised at what effort it took for her to speak.

More concerned babbling. He was pointing to her truck.

She shook her head. Every little movement intensified the pain in her side. She blinked several times as her vision blurred. "Are they . . . did I . . ."

He made his expression look eerily like Joe's and slashed his finger across his throat.

Good. She'd gotten one of them. If she understood this crazy Charades.

"What about . . . the other one?" Funny, the pain was starting to ebb . . .

But, Slimer was gone.

"Talking to your dead partner? Or maybe your sister?"

Rocco couldn't have been more pleased as he carefully peaked around the crates when it became obvious she wasn't going to ambush him.

Seeing Roxie-Helen sitting in a daze in a growing pool of blood did wonders for improving his day, especially when it sounded like she was talking to herself. There sure as hell was no one else around.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, fumbling for the pistol she had dropped at her side.

He reached out with his foot and shoved it away.  
"Funny. Both of you shooting each other like that. Like some sort of cheesy western," Rocco said, clearly amused.

"Go . . . to . . . hell . . ." her teeth were clenched, but he could just make out what she said.

This was too easy!

"Also, funny that your last words would be an insult." He pointed the gun at her as he spoke. "I wonder if what Dr. Stantz's final words will be when I go after him, too?"

Helen wished this was one of her nightmares. She'd wake up in a cold sweat, relief pouring through her when she realized she had nothing to fear.

But, the pain was too real. Too awful. Nothing she could dream up would be this bad.

Although it seemed . . . it seemed to be fading. Along with her vision. And her ability to make her body respond to the most cursory of demands.

So . . . this is how it ends.

However, at the mention of Ray's name from Gambini, her body responded with a jolt.

* * *

Slimer huddled nearby, the manic expression on the greasy guy's face filling him with terror usually only reserved for ghosts who were bigger and scarier than he was.

But, this man. He meant business.

And, the one thing Slimer did recognize was Ray's name. His friend.

And, this guy was going to hurt him.

Frantically, he searched for Helen's gun.

It was too far away for him to get it to her.

Running on pure instinct, he chose another route.

Slimer dove straight for him.

"What the . . . gaaaaa!" Rocco screamed as Slimer splatted him right in the face, much in the way he loved to aggravate Peter.

* * *

Helen knew her service weapon had been kicked out of the way. With all the strength she could muster, she went for her ankle holster, pulling the little gun, pointing and firing the gun in Rocco's general direction.

About the time she pulled the trigger, he screamed.

Helen didn't know if she was the cause of it. But, she didn't know anything at all as the little gun fell from her fingers, as she slumped against the crates one final time.

Slimer didn't know she had another gun. He whirled with glee as he saw the greasy man fly backwards, the close proximity causing him to stumble onto his back.

Helen did it! She shot him!

Merrily, he floated back around the crates.

And stopped.

Quietly, he reached out and touched her.

Nothing. No movement. No response. She looked grey, unresponsive.

Janine's words came back to him.

_. . . if you can't get help . . ._

Slimer zoomed away.

* * *

Officer Stanton Troy had been on the force for years. He thought he'd seen and heard everything as he lounged in his car near the docks. It was easy work. Chasing a few vagrants, perhaps, but not much else.

His partner shooed a fly away from his nose. "You ready for something to drink? I'm starved."

Something to drink did sound good. There was a little mom-and-pop store just around the corner that loved for them to stop by. It kept the riff-raff away. "Sure thing, Dick . . . holy mother of _hell_, what is _that_?"

Something green had plastered itself to his windshield, making both cops inside scream like little girls.

Then, suddenly, it was gone, leaving them slack-jawed with a slimy windshield.

Finally, Officer Troy spoke up. "I've . . . I've heard about . . .was that a . . .?

"Holy _shit_, there it is again!" Dick said, his finger pointing almost underneath Troy's nose.

He followed his partner's finger.

Sure enough, there was the green blob again. He squinted. And it was . . . gesturing?

He rubbed his eyes and stared again.

"Uh . . . Troy? I think it wants us to . . . to follow it?" Dick said, a little unsure of what he was seeing, too.

"Fuck me. I think you're right," Troy mumbled.

The green blob disappeared around the corner, then came back, gesturing wildly.

"Should we?" Dick asked, opening the door. "You think it'll lead us to the gates of Hell or something?"

Troy followed suit. "Hell can't be worse than New York City."

Hesitantly, they followed. Whatever it was kept flying – actually _floating_! – back and forth, trying to hurry them along.

"Whatever it is, it's really upset! Sorta like a green Lassie!" Dick said as they walked along the docks, deserted this time of night. The only noise was the lapping of the waves against the sea wall.

Troy just grunted in reply.

They found the pick-up first. Dick called in the tag number as his partner, flashlight in hand, kept going.

"That thingy disappeared, Dick!" he called out. "Over here somewheres."

The Cadillac shone underneath his flashlight. Along with the blood from the dead body lying next to it.

"Holy fuck! Troy, here's two more! Base, this is Unit 73! We need several ambulances down at the dock pronto!"

Troy checked for a pulse and found none. "Call the coroner, too!"

Dick called it in. "Yeah, this other dude's dead, too. Holy . . . you know who this guy _is_?" He didn't wait for a reply. "It's Rocco fucking Gambini!"

Troy hurried over, his flashlight shining in the dead man's face, his expression forever stuck in one of shock. And . . .was that . . . green slime on his face?

From that green thing that brought them here?

Dick didn't seem to notice it, and Troy sure wasn't going to bring it up. After all, that's the sort of thing that labels a man as crazy.

"I think she's still alive!" Dick had knelt down next to the third victim. A woman.

A woman with a city-issued ankle holster.

She sure didn't look alive to Troy.

Dick beat him to the walkie-talkie. "Base, officer down! Repeat, _Officer_ _down_!"

They both forgot about the green thing.

But, it still hovered nearby. Waiting. Watching. Wondering if he was too late.


	36. Ivan

Janine thought the sound of that Miller-Meteor engine was the best thing she had ever heard.

Ever the thoughtful one, Winston turned off the headlights as he pulled inside, so they wouldn't shine in her face.

All four jumped out just as the car rolled to a stop, Winston killing the engine.

"I can't believe you, Winston. Actually taking the time to talk to the damn thing!" Peter said. "You've been hanging out with Ray too much!"

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time," Winston argued, stretching awkwardly. "How was I supposed to know it didn't speak English? Just what was it speaking, anyway?"

"Gaelic," Ray answered. "I think."

"Well, anyway, it's toast now," Peter said. "Load 'er into the old containment unit, Egon."

Janine didn't have the heart to interrupt their banter. It had been hours since Helen had disappeared, and she hadn't heard a thing. From Helen or Slimer. All she could do was sit here and pace and worry.

If Helen came out of this alive, she was going to wring her scrawny-ass neck!

Peter sauntered over to Janine's desk and picked up her pen, obviously chewed. "I take it Helen hasn't started cooking supper yet."

"It wasn't for you, anyway," Ray said off-handedly.

Janine took a deep breath. _Dammit, Helen, for making me do this to him . . . _"She was here. Right after you left. Dropped off the groceries and everything. Then . . . she left." She almost picked up the pen and started chewing on it again, but didn't dare with Peter standing there.

Ray had known Janine long enough to realize something was wrong. He sat the proton packs on the floor at his feet. "Where did she go?"

Janine looked at him honestly. "She got a phone call. She said it was her captain and she had to go to the station. But . . . she was _lying_. I just _know_ it!"

"You couldn't stop her?" Winston asked.

"You can't stop a woman once her mind's made up!" Peter jested. "It's probably just some uber-secret police business or something."

Ray wasn't so convinced. Janine wasn't one to get overly-analytical about such things. And, she was obviously concerned. "And you . . . haven't heard from her? At all?"

Janine shook her head, wishing she could tell this man who was like a brother to her differently. "She was acting weird, Ray. She took the call on Peter's phone."

"What did she say?" Winston asked.

"I couldn't make out much. But, she was angry. And, I know for a fact, she wouldn't speak to her captain that way."

Ray's brow furrowed. "I guess I can call down there. Or _go_ down there."

Funny, this wasn't the way this evening was supposed to turn out.

"Ray! Can you come down here for a moment?" Egon called from the basement. "I think whoever last emptied a trap into the containment unit did it incorrectly."

They all looked at Peter.

"What? I did it like I always do!" he argued.

"That's what I'm afraid of," they heard Egon mumble.

Deep in thought, Ray followed the scientist downstairs.

The phone jangled on Janine's desk. "Maybe that's her!" She answered after the first ring.

"Ghostbusters!"

The voice on the other end was gruff, and Janine could barely make out what he said at first.

"Speak up! I can't hear you over all that noise."

"I said, can I speak to Ray Stantz?"

"He's . . . ah . . .busy right now. Can I take a . . ."  
"Are you Janine?"

"Who wants to know?" Janine asked, ever on the look-out for the crazies.

"This is Clancy. Helen's partner?" the man sounded exhausted. Not like the crusty curmudgeon Helen made him out to be.

Janine's eyes darted to Winston's, and he noticed her alarm. "Yeah?"

"I . . . I don't know how to say this . . . but . . ." His voice broke for a moment.

"What's wrong?" Janine said, wanting to yell at this man to spit it out.

A juicy sniffle. "Tell Ray to get down here. Helen's been shot."

Janine's stricken expression had Peter and Winston crowded around her for information.

Clancy kept talking, and Janine made a motion for them to settle down.

"She's . . . she's not going to. . .just tell him to get down here. Now. She'd want him here."

The line went dead.

After a moment, Janine hung up, the dial tone sounding final in her ears.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Winston asked, his eyes searching hers.

"It's Helen," Janine's voice was almost a whisper. "She's . . . she's at General."

"Go get Ray," was all Winston said.

But, Peter was way ahead of him, already standing in the basement door. "Ray! Get your ass back up here!"

Janine glanced at Winston and Peter. "I – I _can't_ tell him. I _can't_ break his heart like that!"

"_Someone's_ got to tell him!" Peter said.

"Tell me what?" Ray asked, wiping his hands on a rag. Egon was close behind.

Egon knew Peter didn't normally have that tone of voice unless something was wrong.

Ray wasn't quite so perceptive. His eyes went from one of his friends to the other. Their expressions varied from pity from Janine to quiet understanding from Winston.

But, it didn't take him long.

"It's Helen. Isn't it?"

Janine stepped forward after all. "That was Clancy. On the phone. Helen's been shot. She's . . .she's not . . ." She willed herself not to shed any tears. She had to be strong for this man who had a heart bigger than all of theirs combined.

He was going to need it.

* * *

Ray always remembered the day they told them his parents were killed. Although relatively young, he recognized that life as he knew it was over.

And, he was right. It was one of the last times Carl, Jane and himself were all together in the same room, let alone the same city.

And, he was the only one who cried that day when the police chief broke the news to them the best way he could. Even Jane – the youngest – didn't shed a tear.

He had never felt more alone than he did that day, even surrounded by his siblings.

But, this time was different. This time, he truly wasn't alone.

And for that, Ray was thankful.

". . . she's not going to make it," Janine finally managed.

It was almost as if everything in the world slowed down at that exact moment. He couldn't move, not initially, as his mind struggled to comprehend what she had said.

_Helen? His Helen? Are they sure? Maybe it wasn't her? Didn't she just go to the station to meet with the chief? Did it happen there? Did you send her out? But, she wasn't even on duty!_

He hadn't realized it, but his feet had started working as his mind fumbled for an answer he couldn't possibly know. And Winston was saying something.

"Man, let me drive. I'll get you down there in no time flat." His voice was kind. Understanding.

Ray hadn't even realized he'd walked over to Ecto-1, let alone try to climb in the driver's seat.

And, he did as he was told. For once. He climbed into the back seat instead.

They were several blocks away before Ray even realized that Winston had the siren wailing as they flew towards the hospital.

* * *

Helen stared at herself. Bloody. Pale. Surrounded by what looked like half the nursing staff working frantically.

Beeping machines. Barked orders from the harried doctors.

Someone rushed by her . . . hell, no, they rushed _through_ her!

She went back to watching the end of her life unfold, almost as if she were watching a television program. Very detached.

_Should I feel sad? Angry? Confused?_

_Well, I AM confused._

As they cracked open her chest, Helen looked down at her shirt. Wondering why none of this even registered. Or blood.

But, her clothing was spotless.

At least the pain was gone.

"Hi, Slick,"

She turned around, somehow not surprised to see Ivan standing there. Wearing his tight blue jeans and leather jacket he always wore when he rode around on his motorcycle, driving all the girls insane.

"Hi, Ivan." It was almost like he hadn't been dead for months. Just in the next room.

Boy, this _was_ strange.

"Dammit! Where's the heart paddles?" The physician-on-duty sounded harried, at best.

They both turned back around to watch her body being cut open, ribs spread, heart massaged.

"They don't give up. You gotta give them that much," Ivan said quietly.

"I can't feel it. Seems like . . . I don't know . . . that I would feel _something_."

A quiet chuckle from Ivan. "If you weren't dead, perhaps you would."

So, this _was_ it. "Dead . . .wow. The sonovabitch got me after all."

"That's OK. Both of them are halfway to Hell by now."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "That's not where I'm going is it?"

Another chuckle. "Not unless you really want to."

Helen cocked her head and watched as some guy who didn't even look old enough to vote shocked her heart, sweat pouring down his face. "You know, I'm a little disappointed."

"Why? Expected to be met by St. Peter himself?"

Helen elbowed him in the side. "No, you idiot! It's not as satisfying as I thought it would be. Killing Gambini."

Ivan put his hands in his back pockets and shrugged. "Hindsight and all that."

"So . . . it's over?" She motioned towards the gurney and the people scurrying around it.

Ivan smiled at her patiently. A smile she remembered well. "It's over."

"But . . . there's no bright lights? No fan fare? Just . . . dead? That's it?"

"Were you expecting a ticker tape parade, perhaps?"

Helen smiled. "I missed you." Her smile faded. "But, I . . . we aren't . . .aren't _stuck_ here? Are we?"

"You've got a lot to learn, Slick."

They continued watching the staff frantically try to revive her. By now, she was accustomed to a nurse brushing right through her.

Although, it still was weird.

"You know, you always said _my_ impulsiveness was going to get me killed one day. Looks like _your_ impulsive streak picked a crappy time to show up," Ivan pointed out.

Helen couldn't argue with him there.

And there was someone else she hadn't thought how this would affect, either.

Ray.

For the first time, she felt sadness. It wasn't the sadness she would feel for the situation. If she still could. Instead, it was Ray's sadness.

"I had to do it." She didn't know if she were talking to Ivan or Ray.

"Yeah, the two of you really hit it off, didn't you? Surprised the hell outta me."

"Me, too." Helen's voice was solemn. "He's _not_ going to understand this."

"He'll have to."

"I can't . . . can't go back, can I?"

Ivan's voice was kind. "I know you love him, Slick. But, you did the right thing. And, no, you can't go back." He motioned towards her cut-open body on the table. "There's nothing to go back to."

Helen knew Ivan was right. She felt tears prick her eyes. "He's a good man."

"And, thanks to you, he can keep on being a good man." He draped his arm over her shoulder familiarly. "Let's go home, Slick. We got a lot of catch up on." He walked out the door. Or, more specifically, _through_ the door.

With one last look at the exhausted staff, Helen followed, the sounds of the ER room fading behind her.

No one paid attention to the green ghost huddled underneath a tray in the corner of the room. Least of all, the ghosts of Ivan and Helen.

Slimer had seen this before. And, he knew there was nothing he could do.

Whimpering to himself, he stayed hidden. Janine had said to stay with her, and stay with her, he'd do.

"Hold compressions," the doctor on duty said, his voice exhausted. He snapped off his gloves. "Call it."


	37. Alone

It was pandemonium. Not only were half the NYPD police cruisers parked outside, but the officers packed the hallways of the emergency room, the overworked nurses doing all they could to keep the throng at bay.

Ray didn't even wait for Winston to stop the car before he was out of it, his heart pounding. He didn't see if they were behind him.

But, he knew they would be.

He didn't know what he was going to find. But, he was still afraid.

He had told himself over and over on the agonizing ride over that maybe they were mistaken. Maybe she would be alright. It wasn't as serious as they thought.

Just what the hell _happened_?

She _had_ to be OK. There was no other option he wanted to consider.

The looks on the other officers' faces when he barged through the double doors into the ER was all he needed to see to realize he'd been filling his head with false hope all along.

There were tears, even on the gruffest of features. And anger. Raw anger.

In a daze, he stopped in the middle of the waiting room and stared.

They all stared back.

A few he recognized. Most, he didn't.

Vaguely, he sensed his three friends standing close behind him. He knew they were waiting to see what he would do next.

What he had to do next was ask to see her. Ask how she was doing.

But, just by the look of every person's face in the room, he knew the answer to that question.

And, he wasn't sure if he was ready to hear it actually spoken aloud.

The crowd parted, a figure working his way through.

It was Clancy. He looked older than Ray remembered.

And, judging by his splotched face and blood-shot eyes, the man had been crying.

"Wh-where is she?" It was the first time Ray had spoken since those awful words had come out of Janine's mouth. He was surprised he sounded as calm as he did. Because what he really wanted to do was tear this place apart looking for her. Demand answers.

People who didn't know him well would say that would be unlike him.

But, the people who knew him best knew better.

Maybe it was the quiet support from the three guys behind him that kept him just on this side of sane.

Ray hated the tears in Clancy's eyes more than anything.

There was only one reason a man like him would cry.

"I'm sorry, son. But . . . they told us not . . . not 20 minutes ago."

If someone had stabbed Ray in the heart, it wouldn't have felt as excruciating as it did now. He took a deep breath. Held it. Almost felt like a weight on his chest wouldn't allow him to exhale.

He was lying to himself all along.

For a moment, he hung his head.

Someone put a hand on his back. He thought it was Peter.

He knew they were worried about him. If it were the other way around, he'd be just as concerned.

But, he wasn't going to fall apart. Not now. Not until he figured out just how in the hell his world got turned upside down so quickly.

Ray looked up, right at Helen's partner. Looked him straight in the eye, his own eyes dry. "What happened?"

Clancy cleared his throat, a little taken aback at Ray's calm reaction. "We don't quite know. She was found . . . at the docks. With Gambini and one of his goons."

Ray's breath stopped in his throat.

Gambini.

The phone call.

It wasn't from her chief. It was from Gambini.

She'd lied to Janine.

_She lied to me._

Tears threatened this time, and Ray looked away from the fierce gaze of Clancy.

Clancy was still talking, choosing his words carefully. " . . . guys found her, she was still alive. But, Gambini and the goon were not. She . . . she took them out."

Ray's head snapped up, a sharp retort on the end of his tongue.

But, at what cost?

Clancy must have seen the anger on his face because his next words faded into nothing.

Helen was gone.

But, the anger didn't last long. It faded just as fast as it appeared. Replaced with an emptiness that he knew would never quite go away. Not for a long, long time.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out.

_Get a grip, Stantz. Tears won't change a fucking thing._

Someone was speaking. Egon.

"She got a phone call not two hours ago at the station. She said it was the chief." Egon's voice was quiet. Calm. Trying to figure all this out. Reasoning in a world full of insanity. It was what he did best.

Clancy shook his head, some of his color returning. "No one called that I know of. We were all just trying to figure out . . .how she wound up out there."

Clancy glanced at the other Ghostbusters. Ray looked like he was in shock. "Why would she go all alone?"

"That's something we'll have to figure out," Winston said. "All the answers will come out. They always do."

They were talking over and around him, surrounded by all these people in blue uniforms.

And somewhere in this place was Helen. His Helen.

"I want to see her." His voice was firm.

Although he didn't see it, Peter looked like he was going to argue. Winston shot him a look and shook his head.

For once, Peter shut up.

Clancy looked dubious, but replied, "I don't think that will be a problem."

Clancy didn't say it, but the unspoken words made Ray flinch.

_Now that she's dead, anyway._

* * *

An elderly nurse with a kind face led him down the corridor. Ray followed woodenly, part of him wanting to run the other way.

He didn't quite know if he could handle this. But, he had to do this. Alone.

The guys didn't like it, but they stayed in the waiting room, Egon and Clancy still piecing everything together. Including something about green slime all over Gambini's face.

How Slimer fit into this screwed up equation, he didn't know.

And, if anyone could figure out how the hell this happened, it was Egon. Normally, Ray knew he could help. But, not this time. At least, not today.

The nurse had stopped at the entrance of a door marked 'Room 4' and gave him a sad smile.

"They haven't cleaned her up yet." Her tone was apologetic.

All Ray could do was nod, his tongue feeling like it was five sizes too big for his mouth.

Still in a daze, he followed her inside the darkened room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. But, what he saw made them blur again, this time with tears.

He could tell just by that cursory glance they had tried.

And, right in the middle of the room, was a sheet covering the body of the woman he'd come to love.

Ray stood at the foot of the gurney, staring, his heart in his throat.

The nurse reached for the edge of the sheet. There wasn't a spot on it.

Absently, Ray was surprised it was as white as it was. No blood stains it at all, like the ones on the gauze littering the floor.

_Helen's blood . . ._

For a brief moment, he thought, "How great would it be if this was not her after all? If it were someone else's wounded body underneath that stark white sheet!"

That, too, was nothing but false hope.

When he saw her ghostly-pale face, he thought his knees might buckle. Gritting his teeth to keep from crying out against this awful, awful thing that had happened to her, he somehow found himself standing on the opposite side of the gurney from the nurse with the pitiful look on her face.

Automatically, his hand reached for the edge of the sheet.

The nurse stopped him with a touch. "I wouldn't if I were you. The doctors . . . well, they tried everything they could. It's a little . . . tough to see."

Ray stared at the woman, some part of his brain still responding because he obeyed. His eyes strayed back to Helen's face. There was a little blood streaked on her cheek and her hair, the tube sticking out between her blue lips where they tried to keep her alive a stark contrast to her pale features.

She'd suffered. She'd suffered and died.

Alone.

Luckily, there was a stool right next to the gurney, and Ray sank onto it, his eyes never leaving Helen's face.

He didn't even hear the nurse leave the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

He didn't now how long he just sat there staring. Questions flitting in and out of his mind.

_Why? Why did you do this? Why couldn't you have called someone else? Ignored him? Told him to go to hell?_

_Just like you promised?_

_Why did we get a run a few minutes before she arrived? I could've stopped her. Gone with her. Talked her out of it._

_How long did you lay there? Did you know? Were you afraid?_

Ray wiped his face, his hand coming back wet.

Tears.

Tears will do no good. They won't change a damn thing.

Hesitantly, he reached out and brushed her cheek with his finger, some of the blood smeared on it coming off on his hand.

She was already cool to the touch.

"Jesus, Helen . . ." His voice was strangled. He _felt_ like someone was strangling him. All the life drained out of him onto the floor where Helen's own blood had pooled.

Suddenly, he found himself wanting to revert to his youth, when crying and yelling against the unfairness of it all didn't change anything, but might just make you feel a little better . . . wait? What was that?

Ray looked down, blinking the tears from his eyes.

It was Slimer.

He had wrapped his little green arms around his leg.

"So sorry. So sorry. Tried to help. So sorry."

There wasn't anything Ray could think to say to make the little guy feel any better.

Ray wondered if _he'd_ ever feel better ever again.

Instead, he hung his head and wept bitter tears, the little green ghost clinging to his leg like a frightened child.


	38. Inner Demons

"Dude, I don't think he's said a word about it, since he left the ER," Winston said, pointing a chopstick at Peter and Egon.

"Everyone grieves differently," Egon pointed out, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head.

"But, this is _Ray_! The man doesn't hold _anything_ on the inside!" Peter argued, stealing a glance towards the door. Ray was downstairs underneath the hood of Ecto-1, and the last thing he wanted the man to hear was them discussing him.

"Poor guy," Janine mumbled, picking at her own food.

"If it were me, I'd have to take a few days R&R," Winston said. "Disappear. Gather my thoughts. Pray. Cry. Scream. Go on a bender. Anything but . . . but nothing at _all_!"

"He's suffering," Janine said, shaking her head.

"The man hasn't slept. I woke up just like night and found him just sitting in front of the television, staring at it. But, the TV wasn't even on!" Peter said. "And when I asked him if he wanted to talk about anything . . ."

Egon cleared his throat nervously. "He said no."

"Just what he's been tellin' me," Winston said.

"And me," Janine chimed in.

They all looked at each other.

None of them knew how to help their friend.

"Maybe after the funeral, things'll get better," Winston offered hopefully.

"He's blaming himself. And probably her," Peter pointed out.

"I just don't understand why she had to go and _do_ that! Go out there without any back-up! That's so . . . so . . . un-coplike!" Winston couldn't help but raise his voice.

"I can't believe she'd do that to _him_," Janine muttered.

But, it was an old argument already, even though it had only been a few days since Helen's death. And one they'd rehash in the future many more times in the days to come.

* * *

Ray stared at the pieces of the carburetor like he hadn't even rebuilt one ever, not to mention his beloved Ecto-1.

He found himself doing that lately. His mind wandering.

No wonder the guys and Janine looked at him like he were nuts.

_Maybe I AM nuts._

The upcoming funeral tomorrow didn't help. They were burying her back in their hometown. Next to her sister.

Ray couldn't imagine what her parents were going through.

If it were as bad as he was going through, then he didn't wish it on anybody.

Everyone else was upstairs. And that was fine with him.

He knew they were probably discussing him right now. They meant well. He knew they did.

But, how could he tell them he felt nothing at all. Just . . .numb. Like a robot automatically going about its business with no emotions whatsoever. Or like a person who has an arm or leg removed. They still feel it there, but it's not there at all.

He'd turn around and expect to see her standing right there, smiling at him.

Or a song on the radio would remind him of her. Or a smell, something that reminded him of her shampoo. Or _anything_. Hell, even the sight of an NYPD patrol car was like a kick to the gut!

Funny. She was haunting him without actually _being_ there to haunt him.

But, ever since the tears he shed that night at the ER by her broken body, he hadn't shed a one. He felt too drained. Like a shell of who he had been. He couldn't even muster enough feeling to console Slimer, who had apparently tried his damnedest to help her.

One day, maybe he'd feel like himself again.

Maybe.

* * *

Going home was bad enough. Childhood memories seemed to come alive with each mile they drew closer to Morrisville. They weren't all bad. But some, he could live without.

However, following every NYPD police cruiser available escorting the body of the woman he loved was something he _could_ have lived without.

And seeing her lying in that casket. In the dress she wore the night she fell in the fountain, no less.

Ray couldn't help but realize as he stared at her that he would rather her be buried in it then in her police uniform.

At least it was part of happier times for her.

And, he couldn't help but think about that night. The way the stars shined above them, her laughter echoing in the balmy night air.

The stars.

Did she become one of them like she wanted? Like she believed?

Who the hell knows?

The funeral itself was a blur. The preacher droning on about a life taken too early, but at the service of her city.

_Ha. More like the service of her own inner demons._

Ray shoved that angry thought away. The anger was closer the surface now. Waiting. Wanting to escape.

The heavy smell of flowers laid throughout the packed church. The citizens of Morrisville never failed to attend one of these things, and apparently, they hadn't changed. Some of them he recognized. Some of them, he didn't.

But, the NYPD outnumbered them all.

"I bet the criminals in New York are having a field day," Peter whispered. Janine shushed him, but Ray couldn't help but think he was right.

But, there were no tears from them today. Today, they had to put up a good front, escorting one of their own to her final resting place. Every button shined brightly. Every shoe gleamed in the dim lights from the church.

And, eight of them, faces a mask of stark absolute nothing, carried her casket out the door and to the waiting hearse. There were so many in attendance, many of them were outside the door, watching solemnly.

Ray couldn't help but admire them.

But, he couldn't help but pity her parents. Her mother, especially. The woman had buried both of her children under horrible circumstances, and her sobs echoed throughout the church and even in the cemetery just outside of town. It was all she could do to walk behind the casket, her husband and remaining family helping her the best they could.

She didn't even think about what this would do to them, either.

_Or you._

Ray's hand automatically clenched, and he took a deep breath. Winston gave him a look of concern, but he ignored it.

But, that didn't mean he was any less grateful for their support today.

More words from the preacher at the cemetery as the summer sun shone brightly on them, a stark contrast to the pain and misery surrounding the beautiful casket balanced carefully over the hole in the ground.

_. . . I'd hate to think that once we're gone, we're gone . . ._

The casket with its bright spray of flowers blurred momentarily as he recalled her words.

But, that's all she was. Gone. All her hopes, fears and dreams vanished. No more.

Some of his, too, come to think of it.

Janine sniffled loudly next to him, her hand clutching his with all her might. He reached over and absently patted it with his free hand.

They hurt for him. And, that did help. A little. At least he wasn't alone.

He hated to be alone.

As the funeral drew to a close and the crowd slowly dispersed, Ray knew he had to speak to her family. It was the right thing to do.

He was surprised her mother even remembered him. She hugged his neck tightly amid the throng waiting to speak their condolences.

"You . . . you made her happy, Raymond," she managed to whisper in his ear before she let him go, a tissue crumpled in either hand.

Ray was speechless. He knew she wasn't terribly close to her parents, and the fact that she even mentioned him to her mother surprised him.

As they all turned to go, Egon spoke up. "I believe they're having lunch at the church. Did you want to go?"

Ray thought of everyone who would be there. Many of the same people who fed him when he buried his parents, the representative of the state waiting outside to take him to a foster home. He'd have to endure the platitudes all over again.

He shook his head wanly. "Let's go home."

* * *

"So, when was the last time anyone saw him?" Egon asked sensibly.

"He left from here about 8 last night. Said he needed some air and was going to walk around the block," Janine said, trying her best not to wring her hands. "I guess I left before he came back."

"Yeah, he wasn't here when I went to bed, but I didn't think anything of it," Winston said.

"Do you think we need to file a missing person's report?" Peter asked. It wasn't like Ray to disappear.

But, then again, the guy had been through a lot lately.

Egon seemed to think about it. "He has to be gone for 24 hours for them to even take down your number."

"Hell, it's only been a few days since the funeral. Maybe he just finally had enough of all of us tip-toeing around him," Peter pointed out. "Quite frankly, _I_ was getting sick of it myself."

Winston reached for his jacket. "I'll go out and see if I can find him. I know a few places he likes to hang out."

"I don't think joke shops are his type of thing right now," Peter said dryly.

Janine reached for her purse. "I'll go with you . . ."

She stopped and looked up. All of them looked towards the door.

". . . keep your eyes on the roooaaddd, son! Better, sloOOWWW this vehicle dowwnnn . . ."

"Someone had a good time last night," Peter said, eyebrow raised.

The rest of them didn't quite look so sure as the slurred lyrics came closer.

The front door slammed open, and they all squinted against the morning sun streaming in.

Silhouetted in the doorway was Ray.

And judging by his rumpled appearance and the stench of smoke and booze, a very, very drunk Ray.

"Hi, guys!" he said a little too brightly, stumbling a little and catching himself on the door knob. "Oopsie!"

They all looked at each other for a moment.

Janine spoke up first, going to his aid. "Ray, you had us worried _sick_!"

He brushed her off with more force than he normally would have. But, his tone was still congenial. "Just went out for a few beers. No biggie." He took a few steps towards the stairs, but stopped, swaying on his feet and hiccupped once.

"I think you had _more_ than a few," Peter said, wrinkling his nose. "And, I think you spilled a few more than you drank."

Ray grinned drunkenly, reaching out and patting Peter on the face with a little more force than he really intended. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown."

"Ookkkaayyy," Peter took Ray by the arm. "Let's get you upstairs and cleaned up. Then, time for a little nappie . . ."

Ray snatched his arm out of Peter's grip so fast, he almost fell over backwards. Winston stopped him just in time. Ray didn't like that either and stumbled away from him, too.

"I'm fine. I'm OK. Just ducky. Peachy-keen," he kept saying as he tried to regain his balance.

"I'll have to argue with you there, Raymond," Egon said, sharing a concerned glance with Janine. They all drank on occasion, but Egon couldn't ever recall seeing his longtime friend so smashed.

Ray pointed his finger at Egon. Or, at least, tried to. It moved in drunken circles in the air. "You don't know as much as you think you do, Dr. Spengler." Ray's tone was harsh.

Egon raised an eyebrow, but kept silent.

Ray whirled around. "In fact, _none_ of you know as much as you think you do!" His quick motion made him woozy for a moment, but he held his ground, propping himself heavily on the banister, giggling a little in his drunken stupor.

Winston knew he'd rather not have this conversation with Ray while he was three sheets to the wind, it looked like they were about to have it. "If this is about Helen . . ."

All traces of humor – drunken or otherwise – disappeared from Ray's face. "She'd dead, _goddammit_! And, she didn't even _care_ enough to think about her parents! Not _at all_! They buried both their children, and she _didn't even care_!"

Since Ray rarely – if ever – got angry, let alone raised his voice, it was another shock to their systems.

"You don't know that," Winston's voice was quiet. "She had her reasons . . ."

Ray stared at his friend incredulously. "Had her _reasons_? Is that the best you can _do_? She was _selfish_! And because she was selfish, she died. _Alone_!" He almost choked on the last word.

But, even Ray couldn't stay angry for long. Even though he was drunk.

He slowly sank to the bottom step, putting his head in his hands.

"I told you this would happen sooner or later," Peter said to none of them in particular. With a groan, he sat next to his friend. "I know you're not just worried about her parents . . ."

Ray wiped his eyes with his sleeve roughly. "She _promised_ me," he mumbled more to himself than to Peter. "She _promised_ she wouldn't do something . . . something like she did!" His voice rose with his anger. But, he was exhausted of the roller coaster toll this was taking, and it didn't stick around. "She didn't even think about . . . about me, either. Just . . . just went out there like . . . like getting herself killed didn't matter . . ."

Peter looked at the others, and put his arm around Ray's shoulders. "Ray, I think the guys will agree with me here. There's no way to know. You may never know exactly what went on in that brain of hers before she got her fool-self killed." A glare from Janine that he ignored. "However, I can tell you right here – in front of all these witnesses – that that woman loved you." A pause. "But, unfortunately, love can't heal all wounds, despite what Hallmark says. And, she did what she had to do. That doesn't make it right, but that's how it goes sometimes."

Peter wasn't sure how much of this was getting through Ray's drunken haze. But, no one contradicted him, so he figured he must've got it right.

Anything to ease his friend's suffering, even just a little bit.

Although he was fairly certain Ray would have to grieve on his own time.

They'd all just be here for him. As long as it took.


	39. The Highway and the River

"I gotta go back," Helen said, arms folded in defiance.

Ivan rolled his eyes. "We've _had_ this conversation. I don't think it'll go over well with the powers that be. He doesn't like all of us coming and going at will."

Helen mirrored his look. "If that _were_ the case, then how to you explain all the class five, sixes and whatevers that those guys catch daily!"

Ivan just looked annoyed at her logic. "You can't go back . . ."

"Not to _stay_, you dimwit! Just to . . . to reassure him." She gestured over her shoulder. "You've seen what I've seen!"

"Hell, Slick! If I saw the woman I was boning with her chest cut open like that, I'd be a basket case, too! OW! Stop it!" He rubbed his arm where she had punched him and looked her up and down. "And, I can't believe you're still running around in that get-up."

Helen knew he was talking about her clothes – Ray's shirt and her jeans. "I got to choose how I spend eternity, and just maybe this is when I was the happiest!" It was an old argument she figured they would have for eons to come.

But, that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Can't we just – I don't know – _ask_ someone? Or just – just _go_ down there?"

Ivan shook his head. "You know, it was a whole lot less annoying around here when you weren't in residence. You're even getting on your sister's nerves."

Helen made a face, but she couldn't help but feel just a smidge of happiness. Her beautiful sister was here. Helen assumed it was heaven, but had come to learn a few things about this place to make her wonder why she ever tried to picture it in her mind while she was alive.

Because it was nothing like anyone had prepared her for.

Sometimes, she wondered if Hell were the same way.

"I can't just sit here and watch him mourn like that. And – I don't know – aren't I supposed to be _satisfied_ with where're am at? Instead of bugging you?"

Ivan muttered underneath his breath for a moment before speaking aloud, running his hand through his hair. "Well, there is one problem."

"What?" her hands on her hips.

He looked a little dubious. "It seems that . . . well . . . you won't be totally . . . I guess you can say . . . _one_ with this place until . . . until well . . . he let's you go."

Helen stared for a moment before punching him again.

"OW! Shit_fire_, Helen, what was that for?"

"For lying to me and saying you didn't know how this all worked!" She glared at him smugly, but it didn't last long. "So, what exactly _are_ you saying?"

Still rubbing his arm, Ivan answered, "I'm saying that there's some sort of weird-ass bond between the two of you. Not even your own parents' tears can hold you there, but you and Dr. Stantz down there – I don't know – I guess you really made an impression on that dude."

"Very eloquent, Ivan."

"Shut up, Slick. Let me finish."

Helen bit her tongue.

"I _think_ it has something to do with you giving your life to save his or some other candy-ass nonsense like that. Now, he's mourning himself into a stupor, and you've got to make things right."

They stood there for a moment. "So . . . now what?"

Ivan shrugged. "You go back."

By now, she wasn't so sure. "And, if I can't convince him?"

He lifted his shoulders. "I don't know. At least you tried." He paused, thinking. "There's just one catch. . ."

* * *

"So, big guy, what're we looking for?" Peter asked as he studied the non-descript apartment complex.

"The guy on the phone said a short, pudgy monster was eating out of his fridge," Winston pointed out, adjusting the particle thrower on his back.

"Sure Slimer didn't escape?" Peter asked with a grin.

"Sounds like those Class Twos that have been driving us crazy lately," Ray pointed out. Although they all knew the dark circles underneath his eyes were more than just working overtime.

But, at least he was trying.

Egon studied the PKE meter closely as the others waited for his response. "Well, it seems that there _were_ several Class Twos. I'm getting some faded readings."

"So, they're gone. We can go home and finish our supper in peace," Peter said matter-of-factly.

Ray glanced over Egon's shoulder. "There's something else there now."

"Lemme guess – and it's bigger than a Class Two," Winston said. "And nastier."

"Bigger, yes. Nastier, I don't think so," Egon said.

Ray studied the PKE meter readouts. Something was vaguely familiar about the signal, but he shrugged it off.

Peter pulled his thrower. "Well. Let's get to work, so we can get paid and go home."

Several of the inhabitants of the apartment were huddled outside, watching them go into the building with awe mixed with apprehension. Peter even threw them a little wave.

A little kid – probably not more than five – was the only one who waved back.

"Off your game there, bud," Winston said with a chuckle. "I know you were aiming for that kid's mama."

Peter shrugged. "Don't worry. She'll come 'round."

They stood in the narrow entrance hall that was just this side of shabby. Clean, but shabby.

"Where to, oh great one?" Peter asked Egon.

Egon, too, was trying to figure out why this reading looked so familiar. "It should be . . ." he pointed up the narrow staircase. "Right up there."

They all looked up the stairs.

The only person there was a girl, probably in her late teens. She was sitting at the top of the stairway in a blue sparkly dress and no shoes, her hair done up in long ringlets. And, she was watching them intently.

"I thought they said everybody was outside," Winston said warily. And something about her was vaguely familiar . . .

"They are. That's your entity," Egon said, his eyes darting from the meter to the girl.

"She doesn't _look_ scary," Peter said.

Ray just stared, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands before staring again.

Peter shrugged. "Well. . . let's blast her then!" He pulled the thrower off his back.

Ray shoved it aside. "Wait!"

"_Wait_, Ray? On what? I bet she grows horns and shoots fire out of her mouth, if I know my women."

"Only if you piss me off, Dr. V."

Peter whirled around at the mention of Janine's favorite nickname.

Ray put one foot on the stairway, his eyes never leaving hers.

Winston's eyes widened. "Hold up a minute. That's . . . that's . . ."

"Helen?" Ray asked hesitantly.

Peter started to grab Ray's arm. "It could be a trap . . . you know how sneaky those bastards can be." And right now, they all knew how vulnerable Ray was concerning Helen.

Egon put up his hand for silence, his eyes still buried in the PKE meter. "I don't think so."

"Let's just see where this goes," Winston said. Although, he'd bust the apparition wide open if she laid a hand on him . . . even if it really _was_ Helen.

Ray had no doubt in his mind it was her. Especially after she smiled at him. Not the smile of the woman she had become, but the smile of an 18-year old with all the world at her feet.

She must have noticed his astonishment.

"They told me I would only appear as what you remembered me best, as what you held dear in your heart." She looked down at her gown, which shimmered wildly despite the lack of light in the dreary stairway. "I'm just glad I have clothes on!"

Ray was too dazed to even acknowledge her weak attempt at a joke.

"Fascinating," Egon said to himself.

Winston and Peter were just as flummoxed as Ray, who had stopped halfway up the stairwell.

"Oh, come _on_, Ray! You see stuff like this every_day_!" Helen tried to keep it light, although she was really running by the seat of her pants. Maybe this isn't a good idea after all . . .

Ray shook his head, almost as if he expected her to disappear. When she didn't, he took a deep breath. "It's just that . . . well, I never . . ."

He had so many comments running through his mind, he couldn't grab hold of one long enough to spit it out.

Helen scooted over on the top of the stairway, patting the empty place beside her.

Still in a daze, Ray could only stare.

She stuck out her hand. "I won't bite you, you know," she said with a curiously familiar half-smile on her face.

It wasn't that he was scared. More like shocked. Seeing ghosts everyday didn't prepare him for seeing Helen sitting right in front of him, looking exactly like she did the night they danced to Sam Cooke on his front lawn.

Hesitantly, he closed the distance between them and took her hand, settling a few stairs below where she was perched.

It surprised him when her touch was warm.

"A bit of a shock to the old system, isn't it?" Helen joked.

He stared at her hand in his, a little miffed at the tears that threatened.

She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it. "You're a sweet, sweet man, you know that?"

Even her lips were warm.

Just like she was alive.

But, she wasn't. Because she'd chosen a different path. One that didn't include him.

However, he still couldn't pull his hand away from hers. Not after he longed to feel her touch just one more time.

"You promised me," he found himself saying. Out of all the things he could tell her now that he had this chance . . .

Her smile was sad. "I know."

That wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. "Then . . . _why_? _Why_ did you do it?" His voice was raw with all the emotions he thought he was dealing with. And, he found himself removing his hand from hers.

She looked forlorn. "I had no choice."

Uncharacteristic anger clouded his eyes. But, it was something he found himself quick to do lately. So maybe that made it characteristic . . . "You didn't have to _do_ anything. You could've hung up the phone! Or called the police! Or called _me_!"

Her eyes never left his. "He said he'd kill you, Ray. Even if I did all those things. And you know what?" Her eyes were bright as they stared into his. "I believed him."

Ray didn't know what to say. He rubbed his face with his hand, the one that she had been holding.

Holy crap, it even smelt like her!

Her words sunk in. "I thought . . . I thought you let him get the best of you. Coax you into coming out there. I kept thinking . . ."

"That I was smarter than that," she knew exactly what he was thinking. "I know. I also knew what I was getting into. But, I also knew I had to do it. And for a moment, I thought I was going to get away from it alive."

Ray took a deep breath. "Were you . . . were you scared?" That haunted him the most. Even more than the fact that she was taken from him in such a horrible, horrible manner. The thought of her bleeding on that pier, all alone.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't." She reached out and brushed a tear from his cheek. "But, that's how it goes. And, I really wasn't alone, you know. Since I met you, I realized I never really was."

"It just doesn't seem . . . seem _fair_ somehow!" Ray knew he sounded like a child, but sometimes, this was just too much to bear. "I finally find someone like you after all these years and then . . . well . . . you're gone!"

She gave him a sassy smile. "Oh, who says I'm the _only_ love of your life? You're not destined for bachelorhood forever, you know."

Generally, Ray would've been fascinated that she had seen his future, could probably tell them all of their futures. But, right now, the emotions in his chest were a little overpowering. "I still don't have to like it."

She sighed, expecting this. "Remember the old Indian priestess that used to come speak to us every year in school? The one with the headdress and all the pretty beads?"

She had switched gears so quickly, all he could do was nod.

"Remember that story she used to tell? About the highway and the river?"

He had to search through his memory. "Yeah?"

"Do you remember how it went?"

Slowly, he nodded again as he recalled it.

"Well, we don't!" came Peter's voice from below.

Ray and Helen both looked downstairs where Peter, Winston and Egon were paying very close attention.

Helen laughed, and Ray inwardly cursed the tears that threatened just at the sound of it.

"OK, guys. It seems that there are two kinds of people. One kind is as river. The other, a highway. The river, well, the river twists and winds and doesn't care how far it goes. Just meanders along. But, the highway is very strict. Point A to Point B. That's it. They are totally, absolutely different." She looked at Ray. "Sometimes, though, there's a bridge where the road crosses the river . . ."

"And, it's a moment every lover knows," Ray finished quietly.

"I used to think that was the dumbest thing I'd ever heard," Helen said solemnly.

Ray didn't know where it came from, but he laughed aloud, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

She took that hand in both of hers again, rubbing the back of it with both her thumbs. "But now, I get it. We weren't meant to be, Ray. We never were. It was good. It was right. But, life goes on. The river and the highway go their separate ways." Her smile was teasing. "And, quite frankly, I didn't see you leaving that firehouse anytime soon to live with me. And I sure as hell wasn't going to sleep upstairs with you, three other guys and a green ghost!"

Another half-hearted smile from Ray. It made her heart sing.

This trip wasn't for naught after all.

Egon's PKE meter went wild, and they all jumped at the noise.

Helen glanced behind her. "I know, I know. I'll be there in a minute . . ."

Ray's smile faded. "You have to go, don't you?"

Helen stood, and so did he, her hand still holding his. "I gotta get out of here before Dr. Spengler down there decides to keep me around and do experiments on me."

Egon had to admit, the thought did cross his mind.

Helen stepped down to where she was eye level with Ray. She put both hands on the sides of his cheeks and kissed him softly on the lips, then pulled back to where she could look in his eyes. "You can't mourn forever, Raymond. You told me that one time. And, despite what we think, sometimes, your path really is carved out for you. And despite how it ended, I don't regret mine one bit. Because you know why?" She didn't wait for an answer. "You were in it. You saved me, rather you know it or not."

She turned to go, letting go of his hand before drifting back upstairs.

She turned around. "Oh, and guys? Those Class Twos might come back, so don't be surprised."

Then, she was gone.

Egon's PKE meter was silent.

Ray stared at the spot where she disappeared.

And smiled.

Winston spoke up first. "You alright?"

Ray wiped the last traces of his tears from his face where he could still feel her touch on his cheeks. He had a lot to think about. A whole lot. "You know what?" he turned around. "I think I am."

"Well, I'm happy for you, Raymond. I really am. But, somehow, I don't think we're going to get paid for this," Peter groused.

Egon's PKE meter wailed just as two apparitions armed with a mop and a broom came diving at them, screaming.

"Don't count on it," Egon said dryly as they all hit the ground.


	40. Joys of Owning Your Own Business

Ray could tell a new television antenna was in their future.

If the bunch of rusty bolts fell off the roof if he touched it, he wouldn't be surprised. And, despite that threat, he kicked it when trying to turn it didn't seem to work.

"That's it! You got it!" Peter's voice called out from inside the firehouse.

And, it didn't fall to the sidewalk below, either.

Ray couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself.

And, walking back to the door, he realized why he rarely came up here. The roof needed resurfacing. Badly. And, if any of them ever ventured into the seldom-used top floor of this building, the water stains on the ceiling would probably attest to that.

He paused and pushed at one particular spot with his boot, the old tar crumbling at the touch.

Oh well . . . the joys of owning your own business.

Peter would be thrilled. Probably make them do it on their own to save money.

Ray sighed at the thought and put his hands in his pockets. Even in the fall, the sun could be brutal.

Automatically, he looked up, although the sun was far gone this time of night.

His mind drifted to her, as it tended to do now and again. Would probably do for many days and months to come.

Of course, he saw nothing in the sky but the hazy lights of New York. No stars. Nothing of consequence.

But, that was OK, too.

* * *

Thanks for reading - ainttooproudtobeg


End file.
